


With a Touch of Despair

by golden_redhead



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Despair!Tsumugi, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Maki and Shuichi are only mentioned so far but they are important for Kaito's backstory, Mildly Dubious Consent, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Torture, there are CWs at the beginning of the chapters that need them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2019-06-21 04:19:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15549468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/golden_redhead/pseuds/golden_redhead
Summary: He hates it.He hates all of it, he hates it with the intensity that honestly scares him. He’s never felt so strongly about anything before, not even for the stars that he had been so desperately chasing his whole life. But this… It fills him with something feral, something unrestrained and ugly, something he’s ashamed of and yet unable to reject, not fully. This anger, this indomitable fury is what makes him push forward in a world in which a friend can push a knife right through the other friend’s ribs with practiced ease and not even a trace of remorse. It’s what keeps him alive in the world that fell into the embrace of destruction - and keeps falling even further.Hopefully, his sanity won’t collapse as well.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for my wonderful beta @asteril  
> You're the best.
> 
> And this chapter goes with a dedication for @our-happygirl500-fan (Tumblr) for all the support and hype and everything, it means a lot!
> 
> EDIT. I know that some people seemed to be worried about the direction in which I'm going to take this story and I want to make something clear from the very beginning. While the story is rather dark I am NOT going to go into the rape or death territory. This is something that simply won't happen, because this is not the direction in which I plan this story to go. However, be aware of the fact that it IS going to deal with some dark themes and issues. There is going to be a lot of trauma and psychological torture. The characters are going to be forced to make decisions that they don't want to make. 
> 
> Although, considering the nature of the Danganronpa series and how the majority of the characters dies... well, there shouldn't be anything much darker than what already happens in canon, trust me ;) That said - please remember to read the tags (I will try to put CW at the beginning of every chapter if I feel like it's needed) and I hope that you will enjoy the story :)

Momota glares at Shirogane’s back as she leads him through the long empty corridors, two long ponytails pinned with twin bear hair clips bouncing lightly behind her. Every now and then she looks back at him as if to assure that he was still following her, her eyes sparkling with mirth each time. The sight of that expression makes his stomach turn. All of his instincts scream at him to fling himself at her, his fingers were twitching at the thought of his hands wrapping around her throat and squeezing, squeezing _hard, hard enough to leave bruises, hard enough to_ ** _snap_** _\---_ and the clinking sound of handcuffs encircling his wrists brings him back to his unfortunate reality.

 

He curses under his breath, but apparently not quietly enough as Shirogane stops suddenly and her head snaps in his direction. After just one glance at him her eyes flash with understanding and she giggles unabashedly. She then fully turns around to face him and with a smug grin on her face she tilts her head to the side in a way that lets Momota get a good look at her neck. There’s a challenge in her eyes, something like an invitation. Gone is that timid girl that used to go unnoticed by most of her classmates and who had spent all of her free time in the confines of the Ultimate Cosplayer’s Lab, always living up to her title by creating beautiful, detailed outfits for the characters she loved. That girl was passionate, even if somewhat introverted, and Momota felt genuine respect towards her. This new Shirogane, however… it feels like that quiet, reserved girl from before has been replaced by some vile, merciless creature that Momota can barely recognize as anything remotely human anymore.

 

“Were you saying something, Momota-kun?” She asks and her voice sounds about as polite as ever, but there’s a dangerous glint in her eyes, a certain kind of hunger as she observes him carefully like he was a piece of prey, waiting for some kind of slip up.

 

“No,” he manages through gritted teeth.

 

She smiles in response and it looks so goddamn patronizing. Momota wants nothing more than punch that fucking smug smile in and turn it into a bloody pulp of flesh and teeth.

 

“That’s what I thought.”

 

And just like that she turns around and continues walking, a thin chain in her hand tugging at his handcuffs like an owner would to a dog on a leash. He wanted to stand his ground, be his stubborn self, be angry for being treated like cattle. But he can’t. After a moment of angry defiance he follows after her. It’s not like he has much choice anyway.

 

The silence continues between them, but after a supposed few minutes the question nagging at the back of his head - present there ever since she stepped into his cell and announced that they were going to visit an old friend - becomes impossible to ignore.

 

“Are you finally going to tell me who is it?”

 

Shirogane tsks quietly as if reprimanding a child.

 

“Ever so impatient, Momota-kun. You’ll find out soon enough.”

 

Silence falls between them once again, but not for long. Months of pent up frustration and anger and confusion boil under Momota’s skin and he stands right next to the very source of all this pain and misery.

 

“I’ll never forgive what you’ve done to Maki Roll.” He spats finally and his fists clench in anger. The images of his friend flood his mind, her eyes glowing red, showing no emotion, as blood splats on the floor with a sickening sound. He remembers the weak tugging on his sleeve and Shuichi’s eyes, frantic and wide open as he struggled, desperately trying to get Momota to move, to get away from here, before Maki spots them and even more blood splatters on the ground and...  

 

“Oh, Momota-kun, but I haven’t done anything. If anything - I helped her! A killer is a killer, you know,” she flashes him a smile. “I only helped our beloved Harukawa-san accept her true self.”

 

“Like hell you did!” And before he can think his actions through he attempts to fling himself at her, but before he can reach her she quickly moves out of the way and tugs at the chain --- tugs at the chain _hard_ \--- and a startled yelp echoes in the empty corridor. And then the next thing Momota knows is that his face is pressed against the cold tiles of the floor. He stays like that for a moment, too disoriented to do anything. The world around him is spinning and his senses are too slow, barely registering sensations. He takes a deep breath that quickly transforms into a startled shout as the sharp pain shoots right up his nose. He lets out a surprised hiss and this is in this exact moment that the blurriness of his eyes subsides and his senses sharpen enough for him to focus on what’s going on around him.

 

He lifts his head enough to look at the floor beneath him, a canvas of white with some specks of red. He blinks once, twice and slowly --- annoyingly so --- his mind registers that it’s not some kind of red pattern on the otherwise white tiles, but his own blood.

 

He lifts his hand --- why is it shaking, _why_ \--- and hesitantly reaches to his nose, handcuffs making the move so much harder as the short chain between both cuffs restricted his movement and the clattering of metal disoriented him a bit. Despite the fact that he’s trying to keep the touch gentle he still lets out a pained hiss at the contact and briefly he wonders if he’s just broken his nose.

 

For a moment he just stares at the blood on his fingertips, trying to understand what just happened. Normally he would easily overpower Shirogane even when handcuffed. _That’s what happens after three days with no food and very little water_ , suggests his brain unhelpfully and his fist clenches, smearing the blood on the inside of his hand. Well, that and it’s been rumored for a while now that people infected with Despair happen to be stronger than normal people. Momota faintly remembers Shuichi mentioning that it might actually be the other way around. Maybe it’s that normal people become weaker in the face of the ruthless nature of Despair.

 

No matter which option is true - the thought that normal people have no chance against the ones influenced by Despair is deeply unsettling.

 

“I did,” Shirogane states calmly, eyes cold. And then her expression shifts into something cruel, something that looks weirdly out of place on the face of someone so young. Her lips twist into a smile, wide and vicious. “And she’s doing so much good in the name of Despair!”

 

That is _it_. Something in Momota snaps.

 

“Shut up! Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP! Don’t you dare talk about Maki that way!” He shouts angrily, fire in his eyes. He lifts himself up from the floor clumsily, movements awkward and slower than normal due to the dizziness of his face plant earlier aligned with the sheer intensity of his anger. “You don’t know her like I do! Whatever you did to her I’m sure there is a way to reverse whatever it is that this bitch Enoshima di---!”  

 

The sound of the slap resonates across the empty space.

 

It almost sends him back on the floor and he stumbles pitifully, but somehow manages to stay upright. There’s a red angry mark slowly blossoming on his cheek, mauvish eyes wide open and filled to the brim with disbelief, as if he can’t quite process the fact that she had actually slapped him.

 

Shirogane clicked her tongue with an annoyed frown seared on her face.

 

“I must admit, Momota-kun, I expected more from you. Is it really that easy to break your spirit now? How disappointing.” She sighs heavily and steps closer. Momota instinctively takes a step back, but she’s faster. Her fingers clench around his chin, forcing his head in her direction and looked straight into his eyes. He tries to break away from her vice-like grasp, but she doesn’t relent. “I hope that seeing your little friend will help bring some of that fierce spirit back. I know that you can at least be a little more entertaining. But then again…” Shirogane trails off, malicious grin suddenly reappearing on her face. “Maybe this will be the key to just breaking you completely.”

 

And with that she let go of his face.

 

Momota backs off slightly, white fury still spreading through his veins. He raises his handcuffed hands to his nose and wipes the blood from his face onto the shirt he’s wearing.

 

“Remember, Momota-kun,” Shirogane reprimands him sternly, voice giving off a calm, eerie tone, “if you fail to behave I will have to hurt your little friend instead.”

 

“I swear to god if you hurt Shuichi---!”

 

Shirogane chuckles, interrupting him.

 

“I’m so sorry to disappoint you, Momota-kun, but it’ll be longer than that before you see Saihara-kun again. If at all.”

 

“W-wha---?!” He starts but he’s once again interrupted, this time by Shirogane’s long cold finger on his lips and seeing those teal eyes swirling with despair suddenly way too close to his face. He jerks his head back, but the finger follows and presses even harder.

 

There’s something soft in Shirogane’s expression that looks almost loving. Something frightfully tender. Something that reminds him of the way she used to look at her newest cosplay outfits sometimes, caressing the material softly and holding it like it’s the most precious thing in the world.

 

Momota shudders with disgust.

 

“Shush, you can save your threats for later. I’m sure that you’ll get quite creative with them once you find out what I have planned for you. Or not. After all, you will be rather, ah,” she pauses for a second and smirks, “preoccupied with other things.”

 

She giggles and when he looks straight into her eyes he can see the excitement, bright and clear.

 

“But all that suspense doesn’t matter now, you’ll see soon enough. We’re almost there!” She announces and just like that the pressure on his lips is gone and he can breathe again. With an impatient tug at his wrists she forces him to follow after her begrudgingly down the corridor. Sure enough, at the very end of the corridor there’s a door straight ahead of them.

 

Humming softly, Shirogane fishes a single key out of her skirt pocket. After a moment Momota hears the familiar clicking sound of the key turning in the lock.

 

Shirogane places the key back into her pocket and turns back, staring at him expectantly.

 

“Well, are you just going to stand here? Weren’t you supposed to be the manly one?”

 

Momota grunts in response, furious gaze never once leaving her face. She doesn’t seem to be bothered by it in the slightest, a permanent almost-but-not-quite-polite smile plastered to her face. She had been delighted about the idea of what’s to come the whole time, barely able to contain her excitement on their long walk here and that has Momota’s insides twisted in dreadful anticipation. Whatever it is... it’s nothing good. That much is obvious.

 

He approaches the door and pushes hard, becoming painfully aware of his weakened state. The door is heavy and sturdy and at first it doesn’t budge at all. A few drops of sweat appear on Momota’s forehead as he strains and pushes harder. After an agonizing long moment the door gives way and his muscles can finally relax.

 

“What a gentleman,” a teasing smirk dances on Shirogane’s lips.

 

His whole face burns with embarrassment and he’s about to respond, tell her to go and fucking fuck herself, but all words die on his lips when she steps forward and pushes the heavy door fully open, revealing to him what’s behind them. Or rather who.

 

“OUMA!” The shout is out of his mouth before any logical thought even has a chance to register.

 

The door lead to a small cell, walls bare and dirty, smeared with something brown and uncanny, something that looks suspiciously like dried blood. The room is dark, lit only with a lone bulb hanging low under the ceiling and flickering every now and then, threatening to give out at any moment and envelop the room in the heavy embrace of darkness. It reeks of death and something vile that Momota doesn’t want to think about. The room in which he was locked before felt small --- claustrophobic, really --- and was far from clean, but it’s certainly an enormous upgrade when compared to this rat’s nest.  

 

But none of that matters, not really, not when there’s Ouma fucking Kokichi, the Ultimate Supreme Leader, bound and helpless and _god, this can’t be real, this is NOT real, there’s no fucking way ---_

 

Ouma is sitting on his knees, his small figure slumped slightly forward, body limp. He looks weak, unbelievably weak and for a long moment Momota can only stare with passive incredulity, thoughts a frantic mess of _why isn’t he reacting_ and _oh god is he even still alive._

 

While the sight of Ouma looking this vulnerable is jarring, it’s hardly the most shocking part. No, the most shocking is the attire his lithe body had been forced into. The smaller boy’s Supreme Leader outfit always weirdly resembled a straitjacket (Momota faintly remembers some students from the Reserve Course Department making a mocking comment about it once and paying a high price for it later, when Ouma unleashed his pranking abilities on them), but never in his life Momota thought that he would ever see Ouma wearing an actual straitjacket. The thing looks suffocating around his small form, straps forcing him into a position of a distasteful mockery of a hug.

 

The Supreme Leader is barely recognizable, straitjacket hugging his body firmly, hair plastered to his sickly pale face --- or rather to what little is visible of it. The upper part of his face is covered with a black blindfold, the cloth a striking contrast with the paleness of his skin. There’s a bit gag shoved in Ouma’s mouth, his teeth clenched around it and Momota feels his cheeks burning with helpless resentment. He feels that familiar fiery feeling of anger returning, coiling low in his stomach, a silent protest to seeing Ouma being treated in this way. And as if taking away Ouma’s ability to see and speak wasn’t enough - there’s a pair of earmuffs on his head, effectively rendering him deaf.

 

Momota finds himself morbidly mesmerized by the sight in front of him, unable to avert his eyes even though as he continued staring, his insides twisted painfully. His throat feels like it’s constricting and his eyes are burning and yet he can’t shut them close, can’t utter a word, because as if he can accept what’s before his eyes and he _can’t, he just can’t, oh please, don’t let it be real..._

 

“Let’s set up some rules, Momota-kun.”

 

That seems to get his attention as his head snaps to Shirogane’s voice. He looks at her warily, knowing how unpredictable the nature of Despair can be.

 

“What the hell are you talking about?”

 

“You’ll see soon enough.”

 

She smirks at him and then before he can react in any way she approaches Ouma’s slumped figure and kneels next to the bound boy. A horrified “no!” rips its way out of Momota’s mouth and the feeling of dread washes over his body. He want to pounce forward, to throw himself at her forcibly, do something, do _anything_ to stop her from hurting Ouma any more, but her head turns in his direction and he freezes under the intensity of her gaze. Her cold teal eyes narrow, thin as daggers, and her hand hovers above Ouma’s neck threateningly, clenching and unclenching in the air as if she’s demonstrating what she will do if Momota takes even one step closer.

 

He doesn’t dare to move, breath stuck in his throat as his heartbeat roars in his ears. The whole thing is ridiculous and some part of his brain stubbornly refuses to believe that this is happening, that somehow this is his reality now. Shirogane spares him one last glance, seemingly reassured that he’s not going to do something stupid. He couldn’t do such a thing though. He was too afraid of the consequences that it would cause Ouma any more harm. Both of them bring their focus back to the boy wrapped in the tight straps of the straitjacket.

 

Shirogane raises her hand slowly and gently brings it to Ouma’s cheek. He flinches violently at the sudden touch, instinctively trying to back off and escape the intrusive contact. He doesn’t have enough room to move, however, as the straps strictly confining his torso keep him in place and off-balance. If he moves too far to the side he’s at risk of falling down. So after a momentary struggle he forces himself to calm down and his whole body stills, tense with anticipation.

 

Shirogane reaches to the back of Ouma’s head and in one swift movement she unbuckles the bit gag. She carefully takes it off from between Ouma’s teeth. There’s a sheen of saliva on it, but it doesn’t seem like she’s bothered by it in the slightest.

 

The boy doesn’t say anything and other than the stretching of his strained jaw and an almost inaudible swallow of saliva that gathered in his mouth - there’s no reaction. Shirogane looks at him in a way that could be called fond if Momota didn’t know better. She starts to gently caress the pale skin of Ouma’s right cheek and Momota feels like screaming, but the memory of her steel-like gaze and the fear that this time she’ll follow through on her threat keeps him in place. Ouma doesn’t flinch at the touch like before, but he also doesn’t respond to it in any way. He simply endures the caress, lips pressed into a thin line as he refuses to let any sound escape his mouth.

 

After a moment Shirogane stands up, the bit gag in her hand and she approaches Momota.

 

When she was right in front of him she pushes the damn thing in his direction, an expectant look on her face.

 

At first Momota has no idea what she expects him to do, but after another nudge towards him his eyes lit up with disbelief. _She can’t possibly expect me to wear this thing, she must be insa---_

 

She leans into his personal space, thin lips stretched in a derisive smile.

 

“Let me make something clear, Momota-kun. It’s either this or we’re going to take a long, nice walk back to your personal cell and you’ll never see Ouma-kun again.”

 

He freezes and it feels like all coherent thoughts flee his brain, leaving only a confused mess of hysterical screeching. His panicked gaze flickers first to Ouma and then back to Shirogane. His mouth is open, but all words get stuck in his throat and he can’t utter even a single one. His poor, confused brain just can’t comprehend how she can expect him to do this - willingly, no less! - and is bent on rejecting the idea completely. It feels like a sick joke, a fantasy of a madman and if only he squeezes his eyes tight enough he will wake up, safe in his dorm room back in the Academy, surrounded by his telescopes and the comforting sight of faint glow of plastic stars decorating his ceiling.

 

But then his eyes focus on expectant face of Shirogane, her brows furrowing in quiet annoyance as she slowly grows more and more frustrated waiting for him to finally _man up and make a decision, goddammit!_

 

“I…” He starts, but immediately trails off. He takes a good long look at her, as if he could find an answer in the curves of her face. It doesn’t look like she truly cares about which option he picks, simply curious to see what his decision will be.

 

Unable to stare at her any longer he turns his gaze in the direction of Ouma’s body, the Supreme Leader left alone in the far corner of the cell. Somehow the boy manages to look much smaller than normal, the heavy confine of a mess of leather and straps swallowing up his thin figure. _I can’t leave him like this_ , the protective side of Momota, the side that wouldn’t wish this fate to anyone, even his greatest enemy, resurfaces and takes the reins. And just like that he knows that the decision is made before he even has a chance to consider his options.

 

“I’ll do it,” he informs her and reaches out to the gag before doubt has a chance to plant its traitorous root in his heart, before fear forces him to change his mind. He feels somewhat relieved that his voice doesn’t waver. He just hopes that she can’t notice the trembling of his hand, his whole body shaking with barely contained anger and shame.

 

 _He hates it._ He hates all of it, he hates it with the intensity that honestly scares him. He’s never felt so strongly about anything before, not even for the stars that he had been so desperately chasing his whole life. But this… It fills him with something feral, something unrestrained and ugly, something he’s ashamed of and yet unable to reject, not fully. This anger, this indomitable fury is what makes him push forward in a world in which a friend can push a knife right through the other friend’s ribs with practiced ease and not even a trace of remorse. It’s what keeps him alive in the world that fell into the embrace of destruction --- and keeps falling even further. Hopefully his sanity won’t collapse as well.

 

Shirogane looks at him approvingly, unaware of his internal turmoil --- or simply content with the fact that she caused it, that she had pushed him this far --- seemingly happy with this particular outcome.

 

He sends her a death glare and snatches the bit gag out of her outstretched hands. Before he can think about it too much he shoves the gag between his teeth. He tries to chase away the thoughts about how gross it is to be gagged by something that was in other guy’s mouth just minutes ago. Momota can still feel Ouma’s saliva lingering on the gag and the little marks left by the smaller boy’s teeth.  His hands move quickly to fasten the buckle (it proves to be a difficult task with his hands handcuffed, but after a little bit of struggling he manages to find the proper angle), afraid that Shirogane would try to do it herself. It doesn’t go unnoticed by her, however, as she sends an amused glance his way.

 

“See, Momota-kun, you can cooperate if you really want to! And wasn’t it so much easier than me forcing the gag down your throat?” She giggles at the angry frown adorning his face, astronaut’s cheeks burning with helpless fury.

 

Before she can continue mocking him a small, raspy voice directs her attention elsewhere.

 

“Sh-shirogane… chan?”

 

Ouma’s voice cracks slightly from disuse and Momota’s heart clenches painfully at the sound of it. It’s disturbing, hearing the Supreme Leader sound so lost, so broken. There’s a certain vulnerability to it and Momota feels like he’s listening to something private, something intimate and not meant for his ears. He knows that as a man he would never want to be heard in the state Ouma’s in.

 

“Shirogane-chan?” He asks again and his voice sounds a little stronger this time, more sure. He moves his head slightly as he looks around with unseeing eyes, the blindfold still wrapped tightly against his eyes. His senses are completely restricted, but he seems to sense that he’s not alone in the room, that Shirogane didn’t just leave after freeing his mouth of the gag. "Weren't you supposed to play with me?"

 

A delighted giggle escapes Shirogane’s lips as she rushes to his side quickly. She looks like a little girl on a Christmas morning, eyes shining with barely contained exhilaration. Momota would be almost impressed that she isn’t squealing loudly in glee, but alas, he’s a bit too preoccupied alternating between staring angrily at her back and throwing worried glances in Ouma’s way. Shirogane gracefully sits on her knees next to Ouma and carefully removes the earmuffs encasing his head. With that gone Ouma releases a shuddering breath as his sense of hearing is back. Then Shirogane reaches to the blindfold covering Ouma’s eyes and unties it, the black cloth falling freely down his neck.

 

He blinks a few times, eyes squinting as he tries to get used to the light of the cell, however dim it is. He seems slightly disoriented, but otherwise okay, and Momota feels the wave of relief wash over him.

 

And then Ouma’s eyes fall on the astronaut.

 

“Oh,” a soft sound escapes his lips, barely above a whisper.

 

His eyes shift quickly between Momota and Shirogane’s faces as he’s trying to make some sense out of this situation that he probably never expected to find himself in. He seems surprised at the sight of Momota, but it shows for only a split second and if Momota blinked in that very moment he would have easily missed it. Any emotions of surprise, fear, confusion are quickly covered with a canvas of nothingness as Ouma’s expression suddenly turns blank. (It’s not the first time when Momota sees his face like this, perfectly devoid of emotion, unmoving --- it never fails to plant a deep sense of _uneasiness_ low in the pit of his stomach).

 

Ouma shifts his eyes and lets them rest on Shirogane, tension almost tangible in the air. The Ultimate Cosplayer --- can she even still be called that? --- only smiles gently, hands folded in her lap, a picture of composed anticipation. It’s Ouma’s move now.

 

They stare at each other for a long moment, a puppeteer and her little plaything, and then Ouma’s eyes brighten with some kind of resolve. Just as suddenly as his expression blanked now it lights up with emotion, lips stretching in an infantile smile.

 

“Shirogane-chan!” He exclaims happily and Momota almost recoils, taken aback by such a sudden and jarring change in his behavior if not for knowing Ouma’s personality and nature. He’s pretty sure that if only Ouma’s limbs weren’t immobilized he would be bouncing childishly around Shirogane at this very moment.

 

“Hello, Ouma-kun.”

 

“Shirogane-chaaaaan, it’s not nice to leave me here alone for so long. It’s not fun at all when there’s no one here to play with me. And you promised last time to bring me some water.” The pout is audible in his tone.

 

“Oh~,” Shirogane giggles. “Silly me! I’m so sorry, Ouma-kun, I plainly forgot about it,” she flashes him a smile that isn’t apologetic in the slightest. “Remind me again, how long has it been this time?”

 

Ouma seems to immediately understand what she’s asking about and his expression turns thoughtful as he pretends to think about the question.

 

“Day and a half” he responds blithely. Like it’s the most normal thing in the world.  

 

Momota can feel himself shudder at the thought of staying with no water for so long, on top of being bound and left alone with a blindfold constricting his ability to see and earmuffs taking away his sense of hearing. The astronaut can’t imagine himself being in Ouma’s position. He’s painfully aware of the fact that this kind of sensory deprivation can lead to serious damage, on top of that the severe isolation was enough to push any man over the brink. Paired up with no food and no water… He would be probably impressed with Ouma’s abilities, but he’s too busy feeling the horror wash over him at the mere idea. Ouma is either a very good actor or completely insane, if he can talk about being kept with no water for so long as if it’s nothing bothersome.

 

And then the little fucker giggles --- or at least attempts to giggle as it comes out pitifully raspy and weak --- and sends Shirogane a crooked smile. “Or at least that’s what you told me the last time you came to pay me a visit, Shirogane-chan.”

 

“Ah, I did, didn’t I?” She laughs and Momota feels a bile forming in his throat at this mockery of a friendly conversation. He wants to say something, anything, but Shirogane’s threat hangs in the air heavily and the gag ensures that no sound will leave his mouth, maybe with the exception of some incoherent muffled groans. “So now it’s probably been two full days.”

 

Ouma pouts in response.

 

“You really should visit more, Shirogane-chan. It’s awfully booooooring in here.” He tilts his head to the side and draws out the ‘o’. When he says it like that it sounds more like a long whine rather than an actual word. He sounds a lot like a child demanding attention from a neglectful parent and Momota feels somewhat annoyed that even in a situation like this Ouma refuses to act seriously. He just can’t comprehend how it’s possible for him to be all giggles and smiles even if it’s just an act. But then again… he can never be sure with Ouma.

 

Shirogane only smiles, face twisted into something that is most likely supposed to imitate an apologetic expression. She takes a few steps closer until she stands just before Ouma. His eyes never leave her face, perceptive and wary. However, no matter how much effort he puts into training his expression, he can’t quite contain an instinctive flinch when she suddenly reaches her hand in his direction. Momota feels a pang of sympathy to him, the memory of Shirogane’s fingers still ghosting over his lips.

 

“There, there,” she pats Ouma’s head like a parent would to a child, the gesture insultingly patronizing. Her long fingers tangle with the strands of hair plastered to his skull and she pulls hard when he makes a move to avoid her touch. A surprised gasp is ripped out of Ouma’s throat and it resounds in the empty cell. Momota swears that he can see tears gathering in the corners of the Supreme Leader’s eyes. The anger comes back and pools deep in his gut, fists clenched so hard that they leave little crescent-like shapes on the insides of his palms. It’s true that Ouma acts like a little shit more often than not, but the sight of him like this, bound and helpless, relying on his sharp tongue and quick thinking as his only way of defence, ignites something in Momota. Something ugly and feral, something that leaves him with a sense of uneasiness that he’d do something stupid. It’s hard to watch Ouma and Shirogane’s exchange, even if Ouma puts a nearly perfect mask of amiability on his face and cheerfully chats with the cosplayer, despite the fact that she has him at her mercy.

 

“I know it must be boring, Ouma-kun. That’s why I brought Momota-kun with me!” Shirogane beams at him, clearly proud of herself, as if Momota wass some kind of extravagant gift she’s giving to Ouma and that he had  to happily accept and cry and thank her for from the bottom of his heart.

 

She tugs at the chain attached to Momota’s handcuffs that’s still clasped in her hands and he stumbles forward, surprised at his name being so suddenly brought up in the conversation and the unexpected pulling at his wrists.

 

________

 

For a long second Ouma just stares at her blearily. He only spares a momentary glance in Momota’s direction (apparently determined to ignore his presence for now), but soon enough his eyes are back on her and her only. She meets his stare with one of her own. There’s a challenge in her eyes. Curiosity of what’s to come. Will he finally let out some of this delicious despair that she knows he’s capable of or does she have to wait longer, work harder? She’s practically buzzing with excitement, eyes open wide and eager, determined not to miss even a second of her little despair-induced spectacle. Despite her hard work at breaking him down physically, Ouma Kokichi’s spirit is not an easy task, she’s perfectly aware of that fact. Ever since Despair took hold of her she’s been desperate to lay her hands on him, to push and cut through deliciously soft flesh and let him bleed out until there’s nothing left of Ouma Kokichi but a broken shell of someone who used to haughtily call himself the Ultimate Supreme Leader.

 

She trembles in ecstasy at the mere idea, trapped in her little fantasy world. Everyone’s Despair manifests differently, so she wonders how his will look like. Will he cry, ugly tears streaming down his doll-like face as he finally _breaks_ , hope fading from his eyes and throat so sore from screaming that eventually there’s no more sound? Or maybe this mask of pretend emptiness that he likes to hide himself behind will attach itself to his face permanently, leaving only a picture of little lost boy, unloved and unlovable?  

 

All the options have their own appeal and she feels positively giddy just thinking about finally discovering the true face of Ouma Kokichi’s despair.

 

However, no matter how hard she prodded, the other Ultimate just refused to give her what she was oh so desperately seeking. He seemed unfazed by her attempts, his tolerance to pain surprisingly high. He would put mask after mask on, never letting his real emotions show, instead opting to act like a brat and challenging her to play his little game of make-believe. Shirogane quickly realized that she had to change her strategy.  

 

“You know what, Shirogane-chan,” Ouma chirps conversationally, snapping her out of her thoughts, “you’re much less boring since you became all despaired.”

 

Shirogane brightens up, earnestly playing along.

 

“You really think so, Ouma-kun? That’s awfully nice of you to say!” Her voice drips sweetness as she threads her fingers through his hair and tugs lightly at the strands. This time, however, he’s ready, his expression hardened. His refusal to give her the satisfaction of seeing him in pain proves to only amuse her further.

 

“Yep~!” Ouma replies, popping the last letter childishly. “It’s not boring at all!”

 

“I see…”

 

She brushes his cheek with her fingertips in a caressing motion. She hums, satisfied, when she spots some emotion --- fear? anger? or maybe disgust?--- flicker through his eyes at the touch and disappear almost as quickly. _Interesting._

 

She hasn't had a chance to inflict much intense pain on him --- _that's what Momota is for_ \--- but in the two weeks since he was captured she’s made some observations that might prove to be useful in the future. One of the observations is that in Ouma-kun’s case a gentle touch seems to be… much more effective. That’s unusual, but not unheard of. She fully intends to explore this later. Her cheeks flush at the idea of finding Ouma’s boundaries and pushing past them, forcing herself into into his head until there’s nothing left except for the delicious embrace of despair, sweet and sticky, tight enough that his breath hitches, thoughts scrambling---!

 

She clears her throat audibly. _Focus!_

 

“So, as I was saying, Momota-kun will keep you company for some time, how about that?”

 

Ouma seems to be contemplating about it, head tilted to the side and eyes narrowed.

 

“I dunno about that, Shirogane-chan. Momota-chan can be pretty boring himself.”

 

Momota bites harder on the gag in his mouth. _The little fucker!_

 

Shirogane just waves her hand dismissively.

 

“Nonsense! I have some very fun games planned for you that surely will keep the both of you busy and, ah…” she looks at the ceiling and taps one of her fingers on her chin as she searches for the right word, “entertained!”

 

Ouma hums, sizing Momota up with his eyes, as if wondering whether Momota is a companion worthy of his precious time.

 

“Okie-dokie~!” He says finally, a sing-songy note in his voice. “As long as I’m not bored, Shirogane-chan!”

 

She laughs, genuinely amused. “I’ll never let that happen, Ouma-kun.”

 

With that she stands up, patting the smaller boy’s cheek one last time. He grins at her in response like a good little boy.

 

She slowly walks to Momota, who’s been rather neglected while she and Ouma were chattering. He eyes her warily, distrust clear in his eyes. He takes a step back when he sees her invade his personal space and growls, the sound muffled slightly by the gag.

 

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” she mutters, face pulled into a frown. She reaches to the bit gag in his mouth. In one swift movement her fingers find the buckle keeping it in place and unfastens it. She lets the gag fall to the ground.

 

Momota gasps loudly once his mouth is finally free, hands immediately flying to his jaw, sore from biting too hard on the gag, something that he’s been apparently doing unconsciously. He sends Shirogane an ugly glare, one that she promptly ignores.

 

“I’m going to leave for now and bring Ouma-kun some water and then we’re going to play.” She pauses, thoughtful. “Or, well, you two are going to play.”

 

The giggle that follows does nothing to calm his frying nerves.

 

“I don’t think I’m going to like your games,” he comments bitterly, the glare on his face never subduing.

 

She laughs, unabashed. “Well, we’ll just have to wait and see!”

 

And then Shirogane throws her hair back and heads in the direction of the door. Once there she hesitates and turns her head to the pair of her new little playthings and sends Momota a threatening glance.

 

“Don’t even think about doing something stupid, hero. Ouma-kun stays where he is and I don’t want to see even one strap of his cute little outfit unbuckled. Understood?”

 

The gaze she sizes him up with is steel-like, unbending. It doesn’t leave any room for question. Momota looks at her for a long moment and then nods reluctantly.

 

“Don’t worry, Shirogane-chan, I’m not going anywhere~!” chirps Ouma from his corner of the cell. Shirogane’s lips twitch slightly. _Of course you aren’t, I’m nowhere near done with you yet._

 

“I’m glad that I can at least rely on you, Ouma-kun!” she chirps back. “You can chat with Momota-kun for a while and I’ll be back soon with your water. And then we can finally play all together!”

 

________

 

The door slams behind her, the sound of it echoing dully in the small empty space of the cell and is soon followed by the clicking noise of the key turning and Shirogane locking the door. And then the two occupants of the cell are left in near complete silence.

 

For an unnervingly long moment none of them says anything and the two Ultimates just stare at one another, letting the silence embrace them.

 

The blank mask is back on Ouma’s face, features carefully clean of any expression. But Momota knows better. He knows that under this disguise of nothingness a brilliant brain is hidden and it works tirelessly. Months ago, back at the Academy and when everything was easier, when everything was _normal_ , a certain Ultimate Detective was trying to solve the mystery that is Kokichi Ouma. He didn’t quite succeed, but he shared some of his observations with Momota, like the one about how Ouma never seems to be at ease, his brain always alert, always mulling over something except maybe when he’s asleep.  Momota wasn’t entirely sure about that at first, but he decided to trust the detective’s judgement.

 

So he lets Ouma think, lets him process it all, this whole crazy situation, as he can barely believe that it’s happening himself. When it all started and the world he knew descended into madness he didn’t expect that he would run into Ouma Kokichi ever again. No one knew what happened to the Supreme Leader. It was as if he disappeared off the face of the Earth. Momota never thought about it much, too focused on desperately trying to make some sense out of the chaos that his life turned into. Besides, it wasn’t anything surprising, many people just disappeared without a word, their fate unknown. Momota didn’t have enough time to worry about every of his classmates, too preoccupied with trying not to lose contact with those who mattered to him the most. He tried to be strong after his grandparents died, their loss hitting him hard. With no time to mourn he turned to his sidekicks, knowing that they’ll need his help to go through this. And for some time it was okay. They managed to find a hideout and they were together, finding comfort in each other’s company. And then Maki… changed. The memory still chases him in his dreams, red eyes and blood splattered as far as the eye can see. After that he thought that it couldn’t get worse, that the world simply cannot be this cruel, this unforgiving. Oh, how wrong he was. As if his grandparents weren’t enough, as if Maki wasn’t enough, no… The world was merciless enough to take Shuichi from him. He was here one moment and then gone another.  

 

Momota shakes his head and swallows the bile rising in his throat. He blinks a few times to chase away the tears that gathered in the corners of his eyes and focuses his gaze on Ouma’s still form. He opens his mouth to speak, disgruntled due to the direction in which his thoughts were taking him, desperate for any form of distraction. He’s tired of silence, determined to say something, anything, even something as stupid as ‘are you alright’ or ‘I sure hope you have some clever plan to get us out of this mess’, but he doesn’t get a chance to voice any of that.

 

Because at that very moment Ouma shifts in his bonds and his eyes transform into something that looks almost angry.

 

“What _the fuck_ are you doing here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, it's here. It's finally here. I'm not sure if I'm more excited or scared. This is my first attempt at writing a multi-chapter story and I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing. So yeah... Be gentle with me? Kudos and comments are always very appreciated, I'm very curious about what you think!
> 
> This is basically a torture fic. It's going to deal with dark themes, so please, mind the tags. I will update them as the story continues, but be aware of the fact that this is not some happy story. That said, it is going to have a more-or-less happy ending. And while it will deal with some physical torture, the psychological aspect is the most important to me? So the emphasis is going to be put on that. An important aspect of this will be humiliation and, well... the choices that characters make. I wanted to write something dark, but I mostly want to explore characters' personalities. It won't go into the rape or death area, if anyone's worried about that. 
> 
> I enjoy putting my characters through some tough times and this fic is both me trying to push myself into writing something longer than an oneshot AND an opportunity to take a look at my two favorite characters and see how they would deal in such an extreme situation. Because yes. I do express my love to my favorite characters by putting them through hell ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Aww and here I thought that Momota-chan would entertain me with a story,” Ouma pouts, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “To deprive me of the pleasure of hearing your surely dumb story. You really are cruel Momota-chan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick disclaimer! I edited the notes of the previous chapter but I'm not sure if everyone's seen that and I feel like it's important because I want you guys to be safe. I know that some people expressed concern about how dark this story will get and I just want to say that it won't go into the Main Character Death category. It also won't include any Non-Con/Rape scenes. It will get dark, but as I mentioned before - I'm mostly interested in the psychological aspect and also have an actual story to tell. Nothing worse than what we know from canon won't happen (although do keep in mind that canon can get pretty violent and dark :P but I probably don't need to explain that to anyone) and I will put the potential trigger warnings before the chapters if I think it's necessary.
> 
> No CWs this chapter, because it's mostly backstory and we get some more info about the situation in general ) Hope you'll enjoy!

“What  _ the fuck _ are you doing here?”

 

Momota sputters in response at Ouma’s abrupt question; his poor, confused brain unable to process due to the confronting way the other party started the conversation.. 

 

"Wh-what?!"

 

He takes a step back, surprise flashing across his face. Ouma’s curt, harsh question takes him aback. Gone is the cheerful note that had been present in his voice during his little chit chat with Shirogane and the childish glint of his eyes gave away to show barely masked irritation. This Ouma looks so unlike the Ouma from barely a few minutes ago, the one who was giggling and chatting with Shirogane as if being at her mercy was actually just some friendly encounter between the two old classmates. The change is so sudden that for a moment Momota’s frozen in place, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly, like a fish out of water, as he’s trying to come up with some kind of response. 

 

“Aww and here I thought that Momota-chan would entertain me with a story,” Ouma pouts, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “To deprive me of the pleasure of hearing your surely dumb story. You really are cruel Momota-chan.”

 

Momota stares, vaguely aware of the fact that his jaw must have dropped. His mind turns into a confused mess of scattered thoughts as he tries to make sense of Ouma’s words and the rapid changes in his behavior. He feels a vague sense of anger bubbling in his chest, an instinctive response to being insulted. These feelings are familiar due to all those countless times in the past when Ouma would tease him mercilessly and rile him up to the point where he would chase the bastard all around the Academy, Ouma’s shrill laughter rang loud and clear in the corridors. Momota never thought that he would miss those times, but given both their current situations it suddenly sounds quite heavenly compared to their current hell.  

 

“H-hey,” he manages to counter finally, indignation seeping into his voice. “I should be the one saying that! At least I’m standing here on my own legs and I’m not like… like this,” he finishes lamely, the chain of the handcuffs clinking lightly as he vaguely gestures to Ouma’s slumped form on the floor.

 

For the first time since he got there he takes a good look at Ouma, taking in all the details that escaped his attention upon first entering the little cell when he was still overwhelmed with shock. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen the other Ultimate student look this pitiful. Ouma always had this aura of confidence around him, his presence bigger than himself, always filling the whole room which successfully drew  away any unwanted attention or concern for his small bony form and ragged clothes with his silly, childish attitude coupled with an endless stream of lies. And this Ouma before him tries, he tries so hard, but he can’t quite hide the exhaustion reflected on his face, not completely. The dark purple bruises adorning the sickly pale skin under his eyes are surprisingly striking in the dim light illuminating the cell and Momota wonders briefly when was the last time the Supreme Leader had a chance to sleep, if it is even possible to sleep with the straitjacket wrapped around his chest this tightly, buckles and steel digging into him, keeping him in place. Nice, and cozy, and completely at Shirogane’s mercy. His cheeks are sunken and pale, pale enough that they look almost transparent, and Momota fears that the slightest touch would be enough to make him crumble to the ground. Ouma’s hair is plastered against his head, long dark strands framing his face and those big doe-like eyes that Momota’s never seen this dull. 

 

“How did you even end up like this,” mutters Momota, his forehead wrinkled and brows deeply furrowed as he’s trying to make some sense out of this mess he never thought he would find himself in.

 

Ouma smirks knowingly. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

 

Momota growls, not in the mood for Ouma’s antics. He fights the urge to pinch his nose as he can feel a headache building in his temples.  “Yes, I would like to know. That’s why I asked.”

 

Ouma tuts disapprovingly. “Not fair, Momota-chan! I asked you first. I demand a story!”

 

Momota huffs, clearly annoyed. “Fine, I’ll tell ya.” 

 

“Yay! Story time!” exclaims Ouma happily and almost bounces in place despite the heavy strands of canvas keeping him in place. Momota groans with resignation, already sure that it was a mistake. He’s a man of his word though, so he can’t back down now.

 

He opens his mouth to start the story and then closes it promptly when he realizes that there’s only one problem. 

 

“Um… I actually have no idea how I got here,” he confesses sheepishly as a furious shade of pink spills over his cheeks.. 

 

One of Ouma’s brow rises and promptly disappears under the dark strands of hair falling on his face. An amused and weirdly condescending smirk is playing on his lips. 

 

“D-don’t look at me like that!” Protests Momota before the Supreme Leader has a chance to make another sarcastic remark about his intelligence. He huffs with anger. “All I remember is coming back to our hideout after scavenging the area near th---”

 

“Woah, who knew that Momota-chan knows difficult words like that. I’m impressed!” Chirps Ouma from his place on the floor. Momota sends him a dirty look. 

 

“I’m not gonna say another word if you keep making fun of me,” he grumbles angrily. 

 

Ouma giggles in response. “Sure, sure! Please, do continue your lame story.”   

 

Momota groans loudly but complies.

 

“So, I was coming back to the hideout after looking for some supplies. I was tired and ready to go to sleep when I had heard some weird noise. I turned around and then… nothing.” Momota shrugs. “Then I woke up in a cell.”

  
  


He realizes how dumb it sounds, but no matter how hard he tries to remember more - that’s all. He expects Ouma to make fun of him again, tease him for being an idiot that doesn’t even know how he got captured. However, when he looks at the other Ultimate he seems to be deep in thought. For a long moment there’s silence between them that Momota doesn’t dare to disturb.

 

\-----

 

“Our hideout,” says Ouma finally and his eyes land on Momota expectantly, demanding answers.

 

“Um, what?”

 

“You said ‘our hideout’ the first time you mentioned it.”

 

“Oh. Oh, right!” Momota’s mauvish eyes lit up with recognition. “Well, yeah, after Maki Roll left me and Shuichi had to find a new one and---”

 

“Harukawa-chan?” Interrupts him Ouma. He tilts his head to the side, lilac eyes wide and calculating. 

 

Momota hesitates. 

 

Something pained and raw flashes across his face, his fist clenches and unclenches. “Yeah, it was the three of us at first. But then something… happened.” He spits out the last word with clear difficulty. “And then it was just me and Shuichi.”

 

“Something happened, hm? Gosh, you have to be a bit more specific, Momota-chan.”

 

The Ultimate Astronaut grimaces and for a second there Ouma thinks that he won’t tell anything more. But after a moment Momota takes a deep breath, determination settling between his brows and continues on with his story.

 

“Every few days we would go to this orphanage. It was close to our hideout and Maki was taking care of some of the children there before. We would bring them some supplies and all that, Maki was really great with them.” He smiles warmly at the memory but quickly his expression turns into something ugly, something bitter and angry. “We hadn’t really had contact with anyone other than people from the orphanage. We had no idea what happened to the rest our class, so we were pretty surprised when we came there one day and saw Shirogane just sitting there in the main room, children gathered all around her. Dammit, we should have known that something was wrong. Those kids were never this still and quiet, they were goddamn children, I’d never shut up when I was little,” Momota clenches his fist so tightly that his knuckles turn white. 

 

“Shirogane stood up when we came and she had this, uh...” Momota’s brows furrow in concentration as he tries to find the right word. “flashlight thing, I guess. Before any of us had time to react she pointed it at Maki, probably because she was standing the closest and, uh... “Momota trails off, struggling with words. “It was like the light swallowed her up for a moment. And then it passed and Maki was just... standing there. I called out her name and that is when… when...” Momota’s voice cracks and an ugly noise, an almost-sob escapes his lips.  

 

“A-and almost like my voice snapped her out of some trance she plunged at one of the children next to Shirogane, it was a little girl, and she… she… there was so much blood...” his whole frame is shaking now in barely contained anger and grief. “And I was just standing there.” He drops his head in what Ouma recognizes as shame. It doesn’t surprise him one bit. Momota always was a man of action, being frozen like that in the face of danger must have been a low blow to his manly pride.  

 

Ouma only hums in acknowledgment, eyes downcast and thoughtful, his lower lip caught between his teeth as he processes all of the newly gathered information.  

 

“And then Shuichi, too...” Momota’s voice is barely above a whisper.

 

“What about Saihara-chan?” Asks Ouma, voice flat and almost purposefully disinterested. Dread is slowly settling in his chest. It’s bad if they have caught Saihara, his talent would be a powerful and dangerous weapon in the hands of the wrong people. And if the implications of what Momota told him and what he has seen himself shortly before his capture are true then he can only hope that Saihara escaped.

 

The look on Momota’s face is that of distress; his eyes are screwed shut, fists clenched and he looks like he’s fighting some internal battle that he’s not sure he can win. 

 

“He disappeared,” he chokes out finally. “He… one day he just disappeared. We were in some abandoned mall looking for something to eat. We separated to make things faster since, you know, we were both tired and wanted to come back to the hideout as fast as possible, especially since it was getting dark,” explains Momota. “Suddenly I had heard some strange noise, like a muffled scream. I ran to the direction I heard it from, calling Shuichi’s name but I couldn’t find him. I looked everywhere, I stayed the whole night looking for him, calling his name, but...” he takes a shuddering breath, his voice cracking, “he was gone.”

 

Ouma stares at Momota for a long moment, even when it becomes clear that he’s not going to get anything more out of him. There’s pain hidden in the burrow of his brows, hesitation he’s never seen there before in his eyes. Almost despite himself Ouma feels a distant pang of sympathy. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Momota - big, loud, always brash Momota - this vulnerable. He wants to pressure him, force him to give him the details he so desperately seeks, his time is running out, it’s running out  _ fast _ . But at the same time he shouldn’t act recklessly, he knows that pushing Momota too far might do more harm than good. 

 

Ouma’s thoughts are running a mile a minute. He has a pretty good idea of what happened to Harukawa but it’s not like he would ever share this knowledge with Momota. Sometimes it’s better to not know. Especially for people like the astronaut who always deluded himself that no matter the situation - there’s always something you can do to make things better. But Ouma knows. Ouma knows from experience that it’s far from the truth. However, even if Momota’s story was vague and rather lacking in terms of details it doesn’t mean that it was completely unhelpful. Momota’s words pretty much confirmed what Ouma was suspecting for a while now - that Shirogane and other people influenced by Despair were hunting the students of Hope’s Peak Academy. He has already known that Angie met a similar fate to Harukawa’s. Same goes for Gonta and possibly Ryoma, although he still can’t be completely sure about the latter. And Shirogane pretty much confirmed that she had the intentions of capturing some of their other classmates, Saihara included. Momota’s story obliged him to believe that she succeeded in doing so. But why would Shirogane and the other Junko Enoshima fanatics capture other Ultimates? He knows why they captured him but why others like Saihara or Momota. Was it even about all of the Ultimate students? Or just his class? Or maybe they’re only scoping out some specific talents? And if yes, then what did Enoshima need them for? She had the entire world wrapped around her finger, what more could she want? Is there even any goal for it? Or is it just some power move, a destructive game and they are just meant to be her puppets, dangling from the strings and dancing to the rhythm of Enoshima’s breath. But if yes then… wouldn’t doing to them what she’s done to Maki and others be enough? No, there must be more to it. It’s one thing to change people into blood-seeking monsters and another to capture them. 

 

Ouma closes his eyes tightly. 

 

His head hurts, the handcuffs are digging deep into the skin where they are encircled around his ankles, he can feel his vision swaying slightly and the light, however dim, hurts his eyes. He tries to gather the facts he has and make some sense out of them, but with dehydration slowly showing its ugly signs it proves to be difficult. His stomach churms uneasily at the thought of Shirogane’s return and the continuation of her sick little game of cat and mouse. Momota’s story isn’t very helpful, either, as it only raises more questions, and not really offering any answers. And he needs answers, he desperately needs them. He hates being left in the dark, he hates  _ not knowing _ . 

 

He wants nothing more than to be free of these heavy wraps and just sleep, sleep until his body is no longer an aching mess of skin and bones, but he can’t, he has to know, he  _ needs _ to know.

 

_ Focus _ , he chastises himself. He doesn’t think he can get much more from Momota and considering how distressed he became during Ouma’s little interrogation session he’s not far from cracking under the pressure. Not that Ouma can blame him, this situation is far from normal and it seems like things are only going to get worse for the both of them from now on; Shirogane made that very clear. The last thing he needs is a freaking out and unstable Momota, ready to lash out and do something dumb at any moment. That kind of Momota is unpredictable and an unpredictable Momota is dangerous. Mostly for himself. 

 

Ouma makes up his mind. Time for a distraction!

 

He forces his face into a mask of sweet fakery that he previously abandoned the moment Shirogane disappeared behind the door of the cell. 

 

“Well then, it looks like we’re going to be roommates, Momota-chan!” giggles Ouma, his voice sickly sweet. “Isn’t that all you’ve ever wanted?”

 

A flicker of surprise passes through Momota’s face, taken aback by yet another abrupt change of Ouma’s mood, but he doesn’t seem to question it for too long, instead taking the bait. 

 

“Not really, no,” grumbles Momota as he eyes him warily. It only seems to spur Ouma on more. 

 

“But Momota-chan,” whines the Supreme Leader wiggling in the restraints. “We could have so much fun together! We could be all so domestic and cute! I would make you dinner and ---”

 

Momota snorts humorlessly. “As if I would ever put something you made in my mouth.”

 

Ouma pouts fakely. “I’ll have you know that I’m a master chef, Momota-chan! In fact, Hanamura-chan from Class 77-B told me that he’s going to give up his Ultimate title as I am clearly the superior cook out of the two of us! Really, you should be honored. I don’t just go and make offers like that to anyone.” 

 

“Can’t you be serious even in a moment like this?” scoffs Momota as he starts pacing in their little cell, clearly unable to handle the stillness for any second more. The handcuffs clank slightly, a quiet accompaniment to his movements.

 

“Nope!” sing-songs Ouma cheerfully in response. Then his expression turns thoughtful as he’s pondering other Momota-torturing methods under the ‘let’s be roommates’ disguise. Suddenly his face brightens. “Oh, oh! How about a pillow fight!”

 

“Dude, do you see any pillows here? We’re in a fucking cell!”

 

“Oh?” Ouma tilts his head to the side and Momota knows, just  _ knows _ , that if his arms weren’t restrained he would tap one of his slim pale fingers against his lower lip, just like Momota’s seen him do countless times in the past. The gesture always felt so childish to Momota, an image of perfect innocence even though he knows that the last word that he would use to describe Ouma is ‘innocent’. “Buuut I’m sure that if we ask Shirogane-chan real nice she will bring us all we need! Who knows, maybe she will even join us!” Suddenly Ouma gasps dramatically, stars twinkling in his eyes. “We could paint each other’s nails!” 

 

“I’m not letting any of you anywhere near my nails,” grunts Momota as he picks up his pacings. 

 

“Good call, Momota-chan! Shirogane-chan would probably just pull them off,” giggles the Supreme Leader delightedly, his small form shaking slightly in his bonds because of the laughter. 

 

Momota looks like he wants to say something to that, but it is in this very moment that the unmistakable sound of the key turning and door unlocking reaches their ears.

 

The last traces of laughter seep out of Ouma’s expression and his eyes widen slightly with alarm. For a split second a look of uncertainty crosses his pale face, as if he’s facing some kind of internal battle. But then his mind is made up and he sharply turns his head in Momota’s direction, eyes steel and serious for once. There’s warning in his voice when he speaks up. 

 

“Do whatever she says.”

 

Momota opens his mouth, surprise flashing through his face at the unexpected demand, brows furrowed, but before he can respond the heavy doors start to open with a screeching sound of metal gliding across the dirty floor.

 

Ouma closes his eyes for a moment, bracing himself for what’s to come and when he opens them again his face morphs into something disgustingly sweet, something unbelievably  _ fake _ .

 

\-----

 

“Shirogane-chan!” He greets her with a wide smile.

 

The girl waves to him and closes the heavy door behind her. Ouma immediately spots the bottle of water in her hand, his eyes growing wide.

 

“Oooh! Shirogane-chan wasn’t lying when she said that she’s going to bring some water for little old me. How nice of her!”

 

“Of course, Ouma-kun, I wouldn’t want you to get dehydrated,” she responds with a smile, perfectly aware of the fact that it’s a little too late for that.

 

Shirogane kneels next to Ouma, her eyes soft and touch unsettlingly tender when her long fingers reach to Ouma’s bangs and delicately brush the dark strands away. She pinches his cheek and unfettered by the way he grimaces, watches with fascination as pink shade blossoms in the place where her fingers were merely seconds ago. A small smile is dancing on her lips, teal eyes twinkling with delight. She raises her right hand to his face and her thumb lands right next to Ouma’s lips and she keeps it there for a long moment, caressing the pale skin and looking straight into the eyes of her helpless little victim. Ouma’s stare is just as unwavered as hers, intense and intent. Once again his face is perfectly clear of any emotion, an empty mask that Shirogane got so familiar with within those two weeks since he was captured. She feels the warmth of giddiness spreading through her chest at the thought of painting his face with all those emotions he denied her, a bit of desperation here and a speck of despair there. She’s going to turn his doll-like face into a masterpiece, her greatest creation yet. And Momota is going to be her unwilling tool, the key to bring her masterpiece to life. 

 

When she finally lets go of his face it’s with a soft giggle and one last lingering glance at his lips. Finally, she reaches to the bottle next to her and in one swift movement uncups it and brings it to Ouma’s lips. 

 

The second the first drops of water land in Ouma’s mouth whatever mask was currently plastered across his face disappears. The Ultimate Supreme Leader can’t quite contain the sigh of relief that escapes his lips. He drinks greedily, big loud gulps, his lips never once leaving the bottle. Shirogane looms over him, a look of dark satisfaction on her face, her teal eyes fixed on his Adam’s apple as he swallows, gulp after gulp. He can’t afford losing even a single drop of water, not now, not when he has no idea when he’ll have a chance to drink again. The liquid flowing down his throat is cold and it tastes like heaven after so long.

 

“Aww, you must have been really thirsty, Ouma-kun,” coos Shirogane. “Why didn’t you tell me anything sooner?”

 

A faint blush spreads over Ouma’s nose and cheeks and his left eye twitches but he doesn’t react to her taunting and just closes his eyes and continues to drink.

 

Shirogane casts a brief glance Momota’s way. “Good thing I have you here now. Next time you’ll be the one to give him water,” she informs him. 

 

Momota frowns in response. The statement is simple enough, but there’s a certain edge in Shirogane’s voice, a threat seeping through a seemingly innocent sentence. Whatever she means by that, it’s not something he’s going to like and this knowledge only serves to make him all the more aware of the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Shirogane seems to notice his uncertainty and smirks under her nose. 

 

After a while Ouma drains the whole bottle of water, drinking every last drop greedily. She pats Ouma’s head condescendingly, a mockery of praise, as if he was a good boy for drinking all his water. The former Ultimate Cosplayer throws the bottle behind her, uncaring. It lands near the door, barely missing Momota on its way there. He moves out of the way in the last second, wincing when the resonating sound of plastic hitting the floor echoes in the small space of the cell.

 

Shirogane stands up, straightening the wrinkled folds of her skirt. She looks at both of her playthings, an unsettling smile creeping up her face.

 

“Well, now that that was taken care of we can finally have some fun!” She announces happily.

 

“Let’s play!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks go for my wonderful beta @asteril! I can always count on you!
> 
> Honestly, this chapter almost killed me. I had to change it so many times and it's just so dialogue-heavy. I usually hate writing dialogues, so it was a pain. I'm really glad that it's finished already and I can move on to the part of the story that should be more fun to write for me. 
> 
> I'm curious what you guys think about it! We got more details of Momota's backstory, even though he isn't the best storyteller ;) I hope that you liked it and I think it's not a secret that I love comments! I'd love to know what you liked, what you didn't like, if you have any ideas about what is going on or maybe want to point out some mistake that I didn't notice. 
> 
> Also, I promise that the next chapter won't take as much time as this one did. I was kinda busy with the Saioumota Week, then had a lot of writing for uni and then I realized that this chapter is a pain and was struggling with it for weeks. You know. Usual writer stuff.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh? So Shirogane-chan wants to see me naked that badly?” He waggles his eyebrows with mock seductiveness. “Y’know, all you had to do was just ask! I would never say no to my beloved Shirogane-chan!”
> 
>  
> 
> Shirogane’s head tilts to the side. “Oh?”
> 
>  
> 
> His sultry expression turns into a blank state in a blink of an eye.
> 
>  
> 
> “But that’s a lie,” he informs her, voice flat.
> 
>  
> 
> Shirogane stifles a laugh. “Of course it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small info: originally this story was supposed to be pretty simple, but as I started to work on it - the plot developed and I came up with some fun ideas that will expand both the story and the universe. That's why I can already say that this is going to be a two parter. The first part focuses on kidnapping and I call it the Hurt part. But since I'm weak for some hurt/comfort - I'm not going to leave it like that and there's going to be a Comfort part! And it's going to deal with the aftermath of everything that happens in this part of the story. No actual romance is going to take place in the Hurt part, simply because... well, it's kind of hard to develop feelings in this kind of situation.
> 
> I'm actually super excited about the Comfort part, because I have some fun plans, especially for Ouma and I just. Want to explain what's going on. But first I have to endure all this pain and torture ;3; 
> 
> Thank you @asteril for beta reading it! And this chapter goes with a small dedication for Rev!
> 
>  
> 
>  **CW:** needles/injections, threats, implied cutting and abuse, description of bruises

Ouma’s eyes narrow as he eyes Shirogane with apparent skepticism.

 

“This better be good, Shirogane-chan,” he warns her playfully with a sickly sweet smile seemingly permanently plastered on his face. “You got me all hyped up and everything, it would be awfully rude of you to come up with some boring game that only nerds like you could enjoy.”

 

Shirogane giggles softly.

 

“Trust me, this one is gonna be good! Although… I’m afraid that I’m going to be the one who’ll enjoy it the most.”

 

It is only now that Momota notices a small leather hip bag wrapped around her hips that he surely never noticed there before.

 

“What is it?” Curiosity gets the best of him and words leave his mouth before he can even think about stopping himself.

 

Shirogane looks down, following his gaze and then pats the bag with her hand and winks at him.

 

“Oh, this little thing?”

 

He nods hesitantly, watching as her smile slowly turns weirdly predatory.

 

“All in due time, Momota-kun,” she sing-songs while throwing her hair back. “Good things come to those who wait!”

 

Over her shoulder Momota can see Ouma making a face at the comment and he almost feels like smiling at the ridiculous expression on his face. Almost.

 

All traces of humor leave him when Shirogane speaks again.

 

“First, I need a favor from you,” she turns to him.

 

He eyes her with weariness, not liking where this is going.

 

“What is it?” He asks with a hint of hesitation.

 

“Oh, not much... Don’t look so worried, Momota-kun,” she says with a polite smile that can’t mean anything good. “I just want you to undress Ouma-kun for me.”

 

Momota sputters and chokes on his own spit, violent coughs wracking through his body as he tries to catch his breath.

 

“W-what?” he finally manages to choke out, still desperately gasping for air. He sends her an incredulous stare, unable to process the words that he’s just heard. “What the hell?!”

 

She rolls her eyes, the look of impatience flashing through her face briefly. There is, however, a small satisfied smile tugging at her lips and Momota just _knows_ that she’s very much aware of how that sounded and that was precisely why she phrased it the way she did.

 

“Oh, don’t act so dramatic, Momota-kun,” tuts Shirogane disapprovingly. “All you have to do is take the straitjacket off.”

 

Momota just keeps staring at her for what feels like a really long time (but in reality can’t be more than a minute), as if his brain just can’t fully register what it is that she wants him to do. He searches her face, looking for a sign that he’s heard that wrong, that that was _not_ what she just told him to do. When her expression remains unmoving he turns his eyes to Ouma, expecting to find the same kind of disbelief and blooming anger that he’s feeling on the other Ultimate’s face. However, it quickly proves to be impossible to tell what he’s thinking. only a half-amused smile on his face that might as well just be an act, one of his many lies.

 

His eyes meet with Ouma’s lilac ones briefly and the Supreme Leader’s smile widens noticeably when Momota’s intense gaze beckons him to show some kind of reaction. When he speaks up, amusement seeps into his words.

 

“Oh? So Shirogane-chan wants to see me naked _that_ badly?” He waggles his eyebrows with mock seductiveness. “Y’know, all you had to do was just ask! I would never say no to my beloved Shirogane-chan!”

 

Shirogane’s head tilts to the side. “Oh?”

 

His sultry expression turns into a blank state in a blink of an eye.

 

“But that’s a lie,” he informs her, voice flat.

 

Shirogane stifles a laugh. “Of course it is.”

 

She turns to Momota.

 

She reaches out to his hands and he has to fight the urge to step back. However, before he has a chance to do so her hands grab him by the wrists and pull him closer. She fishes a key out of her skirt pocket, takes his hands into hers and moments later the handcuffs land on the floor next to the astronaut’s feet with a resonating noise of clanking metal. He can’t quite stop the sigh of relief that escapes his lips. There’s a pale red outline where the metal dug into his skin that stands out in the harsh yellowish light of the cell.

 

Once that is taken care of the ex-Ultimate Cosplayer pushes him in the direction of the other boy. Still massaging the red marks encircling his wrists he hesitantly approaches Ouma’s slumped form on the floor. Briefly he wonders why Shirogane didn’t ask him to help Ouma out of the straitjacket when she was out getting him water, but now that he thinks about it it’s probably for some despair-reasons, like prolonging their suffering or some other bullshit that only the Ultimate Despair could come up with.

 

For a long moment his hands hover above the other boy’s much smaller frame, unsure where to start.

 

“Geez, Momota-chan, just get it over with before I fall asleep here,” he almost jumps when he hears Ouma’s voice so close to his ear. He looks at him, startled, and sees a pair of lilac eyes looking straight at him, one eyebrow raised as if to challenge him. Ouma holds his gaze for a moment and then smirks. “Unless this is some unfulfilled fantasy of yours - to get your big manly hands on me,” he bats his eyelashes at Momota, looking very pleased with himself. “Then by all means, don’t let me stop you and savour this moment, who knows if you’ll get another chance like that!”

 

Shirogane snickers somewhere behind him.

 

Momota grits his teeth and gets to work.

 

Hesitantly, almost afraid to touch Ouma in fear of causing him any more harm, knowing that he’s been through a lot already, he starts unbuckling the straps that hold the straitjacket together. Strap after strap, buckle after buckle, he slowly freed Ouma from the constricting cloth.

When the wrappings finally come undone Momota stomach twists painfully as he takes in the other boy’s frail form, no longer obscured by the restricting material. He looks small. Smaller than Momota remembers him being. He always looked younger with his midget height and bony limbs, but he used to carry himself with such confidence and charisma that it was always shockingly easy to overlook. Seeing him like that, however, makes it hard to believe that he’s the same age as Momota.

 

He knows that if he wanted he could easily count all of his ribs and his collarbone looks so sharp that he almost fears it would pierce through the paper-thin skin. Ouma shivers slightly when the cold air of the cell hits his skin, a thin sheen of sweat covering his pale body. He’s all skin and bones, but it’s not even the worst part. His whole body is coloured with ugly bruises, various shades of purples, reds and yellows blending together across the pale skin. There are cuts scattered all over his body, ugly, thin and red-trimmed lines running along the length of his arms. Some of them are healed, but most look fresh and as if they could open at any moment. The canvas of pale skin dotted with strokes of red spreads before Momota’s eyes and he finds himself at a loss of words. He has to fight the urge to throw up, a familiar lump swelling in his throat.

 

He can feel disgust crawling along the length of his spine as his fingertips brush gently against the abused skin of Ouma’s left arm. Horror settles low in his stomach and his heart clenches painfully at the sight before him. He’s never felt so disgusted, so horrified.  

 

It must show on his face, because Ouma’s expression twists into something like a grimace for no longer than a split second and then goes back to that almost-bored mask he wore before.    

 

Momota carefully helps him to get his arms out of the long and sewn shut end sleeves of the jacket, trying to ignore the painful and guilty throbbing of his heart. His mouth feels dry, unnaturally so, and for once it doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that he hasn’t drank in a while. He’s clumsy, his movements uncoordinated, as he tries to avoid touching the other boy’s skin directly as much as possible, which proves to be a difficult task to achieve considering the circumstances. He’s gnawing at his lower lip so much that he can feel the metallic taste of blood fill his mouth.

 

The moment Ouma’s hands are free his eyes become slightly more alert and they dart forward towards the direction of the door behind Shirogane’s back. She seems to notice his gaze and a slow teeth-baring smile stretches on her face. She approaches Momota, bending down to pick up the handcuffs, that were previously abandoned on the floor on her way there and offers them to him with an expectant look on her face.

 

Momota scoffs, but doesn’t protest. He takes the handcuffs and reaches for Ouma’s hands, avoiding the other boy’s gaze, focused on the task at hand. With one swift movement he clasps them in place and they lock around Ouma’s thin wrist with an audible click.

 

“Done.” He informs Shirogane, the sound of his voice hollow even to his own ears. He doesn’t know what to do with the straitjacket in his hands, the heavy folds of material feel like a torch to his skin, so he tosses it aside, disgust written all over his face.

 

Shirogane lets out a happy squeal - one so deceitfully similar to the ones she would utter during their class anime marathons, from a long long time ago - and claps her hands excitedly.

 

“Splendid!”  

 

She grabs the leather bag resting against her hip, opens it and then rummages through its contents, clearly looking for something. Momota just stares at her with unseeing eyes, exhaustion slowly settling in in his bones, head feeling heavy.

 

“Here!” she announces triumphantly after a while, hand clasped around something small.

 

She then rushes to Momota’s side and before he can react he feels her long cold fingers pry his clenched fist apart. She puts something in his hand and his heart sinks before he even fully realizes what is this thing and what it is that she expects him to do.

 

“What is this,” his voice is so devoid of emotion that it sounds more like a statement than a question. He keeps staring at what turns out to be the syringe in his hands, turning it between his fingers, but it’s like his brain turned into a blank canvas, unable to process what is happening anymore.

 

“Oh, this? Just a small precaution,” she smiles at him, all wide blue eyes and forged innocence. “You did so well with the first part, I thought that you could do the honours with the next step of my little game.”

 

Her smile is as sharp as the needle she gave him.

 

“You can’t be serious,” he murmurs looking at the syringe resting against his fingers as if it could suddenly burst into flames at any second.

 

Shirogane only snickers in response, clearly amused by his reaction.

 

His hand clenches into a fist around the syringe as if he could break it in his grip.

 

He turns and looks at Ouma, but his expression is unreadable, no trace of emotion breaking through the masterfully crafted mask of indifference. He still has this almost-amused smile plastered on his face, frozen in place, but otherwise he refuses to show any signs of protest or fear. There’s a frustration settling somewhere deep in Momota’s chest, frustration at Ouma’s apparent lack of concern, the way he clings to this fearless and unbothered persona that he has crafted through lies and refuses to let go of, even when his life is at stake. Momota doesn’t understand it, he _refuses_ to understand it. If he were in his place he would be scared shitless. And this comes from Momota Kaito, Luminary of the Stars, who is not afraid of anything.

 

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admits through gritted teeth, one last desperate attempt at getting out of this crazy situation. “I’ve never given anyone a fucking injection,” his voice raises in volume as the reality of this all slowly starts to sink in.

 

Shirogane rolls her eyes and her smile turns slightly condescending.

 

“Ah,” she sighs sadly. “So you won’t do this?”

 

“There’s no way in hell that I would ever do something like that,” he exclaims angrily, shaking his head vigorously as if to punctuate his point.

 

Shirogane hums, thoughtful.

 

“Well, that’s a shame,” she mutters. “I hoped it wouldn’t come to this…”

 

Momota blinks.

 

“That it wouldn’t come to… what?” he repeats dumbly.

 

Before he has a chance to react she dashes past, so fast that his eyes only register the movement as a blur of long hair.

 

In seconds she’s behind Ouma, her hand clasped around his neck and a small pocket knife pressed just below the Ultimate Supreme Leader’s jaw.

 

Momota can feel his heart stop in his chest.

 

“Besides,” continues Shirogane smiling sweetly at him, knife digging deeper into Ouma’s skin, almost piercing it. “We should probably ask Ouma-kun for his input, shouldn’t we? The hero doth protest too much, methinks,” her smile turns positively rotten. “Why not ask the star of my little show?”

 

Shirogane leans in, her lips hovering just above Ouma’s ear and when she speaks again her voice is saccharine and low. “What do you say, Ouma-kun?

 

When Momota finally dares to look at Ouma’s face he’s met with something blank and unreadable, lilac eyes looking at him with some kind of thoughtful intensity. He doesn’t even flinch when the knife presses harder, threatening to break the skin if only either of them dares to make the wrong move.

 

For the longest moment neither of them moves, only Momota’s loud breathing audible in the small confine on the cell. And then Ouma snaps back to his perfectly trained cheerful and seemingly unbothered by anything self. Momota swears that for a second there the smile that stretches on his lips had a strained touch to it, the mask threatening to slide off his face, but then even that flicker of vulnerability gets wiped out and all that is left is the pretense that feels uncomfortably genuine. He tilts his head back slightly so it almost rests against Shirogane’s chest.

 

“A little injection is no big deal for the Ultimate Supreme Leader, riiight?” says Ouma with a cocky smile, his eyes staring straight into Momota’s shocked ones. Then something seems to dawn on him and he turns his head to Shirogane, eyes sparkling. “Oh, oh! Will I get a lollipop if I’m a good patient?”

 

Momota can’t believe his ears. He must be joking. It’s a joke, right? He surely haven’t heard him right.

 

Then again, maybe he should be used to it by now. He’s heard many _wrong_ things this day and the heavy sinking feeling that made itself comfortable low in his stomach tells him that there’s still more to come.

 

“This is crazy,” he mutters, shaking his head slowly.

 

“Oh, don’t be such a spoilsport, Momota-kun,” says Shirogane as she rises from her knees gracefully. Before she goes she plants a gentle kiss on top of Ouma’s head.

 

Momota almost misses the shadow that passes over Ouma’s face briefly, gone within seconds like it was never there.

 

“Let’s not waste anymore time, Momota-kun,” says Shirogane as she approaches him and takes the syringe. “I believe that there’s something that you need to take care of.”

 

He curses her under his breath but it falls on deaf ears.

 

Minutes later Shirogane is efficiently working on preparing everything needed, fishing more items out of her bag, silence stretching in the room, interrupted only by her occasional, quiet humming. Momota’s trying not to think about how unsanitary it all is. He’s trying not to think about what he’s about to do. His fists are clenched tight at his sides and even Ouma keeps unusually quiet, only occasionally making some snide comments about how slow Shirogane is and how he ‘can’t wait to be stabbed with the biggest needle she can find’.

 

“And done!” Shirogane chirps happily a few minutes later, looking awfully pleased with herself.

 

“Yaaay,” drawls Ouma’s voice his corner of the cell. “I’m still waiting for this “fun” you promised me earlier, Shirogane-chan.”

 

Ouma is pouting now, expression on his face childish and exaggeratedly bored.

 

“Oh shush,” reprimands him Shirogane, waving her hand dismissively.

 

“You inject it here,” she addresses Momota as she gestures to the spot on Ouma’s upper arm. “It’s an intramuscular injection, so the needle has to be inserted at a ninety degree angle, got it?”

 

She demonstrates how to do it, her hands hovering above the skin of Ouma’s arm and Momota finds himself observing her movement carefully, too afraid of the consequences if he does something wrong. Her instructions are fairly simple and he would let out a sigh of relief if only he wasn’t so afraid of what’s to come. He’s tense, his teeth clenched and he can feel his fingers twitching with nervousness.

 

He looks at Ouma, his eyes searching the lilac ones pleadingly, as if expecting that there is some way out from this situation that the other Ultimate could offer him. He could swear that Ouma’s lips press into a thin line and he shakes his head slightly, almost unnoticeably, a gesture meant for his eyes only.

 

And then his expression hardens and Ouma sends him a hard stare. The message is clear, even if unvoiced.

 

 _Do what she says_.

 

Momota’s eyebrows furrow in worry and confusion, but Ouma doesn’t offer any explanation, much less any comfort.

 

“Everything is ready for you,” Shirogane’s voice continues somewhere next to him and he forces himself to listen. “Remember that once the needle is inserted you need to pull the plunger back a little to check if there is no blood in the syringe. If there is no blood, inject the supplement. Got it?”

 

He nods his head, feeling numb.

 

His next actions feel mechanical, like he has little to no control of his body, going completely on autopilot. He kneels next to Ouma, accepts the cotton ball dipped in rubbing alcohol given to him by Shirogane. He carefully cleans the injection area trying to ignore the way Ouma tenses and shivers at the contact. Behind him he can hear the shuffling as Shirogane prepares the needle, but he pays it no mind, gaze fixed on the spot on Ouma’s skin.

 

The syringe gets passed to his hands and it feels like it’s burning into his skin. The needle is long and sharp and reminds him of all those times when he would go to get an injection when he was little, his grandmother’s hand warm in his as she whispered sweet nonsense into his ears, comforting and soothing.

 

There’s no going back now.

 

He takes a deep breath.

 

The needle pierces the skin with ease and Momota feels Ouma’s warm breath on his ear as he lets out a hiss of pain, quiet enough that it reaches only Momota’s ears. And as the unknown substance gets injected into Ouma’s veins he feels the guilt seeping into his.

 

It feels like Momota’s senses has been heightened, suddenly hyper aware of everything around him. Ouma’s shuddering breath on his neck, the racing of his own heart. He _feels_ Shirogane’s smirk on his back, intent and predatory. He closes his eyes, tears prickling at his corners, hot and insistent. Ouma is still, no reaction other than his slightly laboured breathing. Momota uses the thumb and forefinger of his free hand to hold the skin of the injection site taunt. He’s almost surprised by how firm his grip is, hands steady despite the chaos in his head. He can’t afford any mistake now. He holds the needle steady and pushes down the plunger slowly, doing his best not to think about what substance fills the syringe and how it’s flowing slowly into Ouma’s body. Everytime he lets his thoughts wander in that direction he can feel panic slowly well up in his chest and something deceptively similar to a sob threatens to escape his lips.

 

Ouma feels tense beneath his fingers and he absentmindedly caresses the feather-thin skin of his forearm as if that would offer some comfort and soothe the stretched tight muscles. Momota is doing his best to hold the needle steady and push down the plunger slowly until… whatever it is that the syringe contains is inserted. He tries to not think about all the horrifying repercussions that plague his mind.

 

Once it’s finished Momota lets go of the other boy’s skin and removes the needle, extra careful to do it at the same angle of insertion. For a moment he just stares, confused, magenta eyes fixed on a small drop of blood forming where the needle was piercing the skin merely seconds before. He almost jumps when he feels a gentle tap on his shoulder and turns his head only to see Shirogane offering him a cotton ball and an band-aid. He grunts and takes them both, empty syringe slipping out of his hand and falling to the ground. He focuses on cleaning the injection area. This whole time Shirogane is looming over them, he can tell because he feels her eyes on his skin, this disgusting, burning feeling at the back of his neck. He does his best to ignore it.

 

Once he’s finished he stands up on wobbly legs and retreats to the back of the cell, assuming that he is no longer needed at Ouma’s side. He feels numb inside.

 

Shirogane looks at him with a strange expression, a blend of satisfaction and pity and pats him on his shoulder when he passes her. The gestures makes the blood in his veins boil, not for the first time thinking about how easy it would be to just clasp his hands around her throat and squeeze, squeeze until her face turns blue and her eyes roll behind her head and---

 

It feels somewhat reassuring that the previous anger is still there. That despite everything he’s not bending to her will.

 

Shirogane kneels next to Ouma, takes his face in her hands, thumb circling the pale skin of his cheek in a gesture that maybe could be mistaken for affectionate, if only it wasn’t so horribly _wrong_. All pretenses are soon forgotten anyway when her right hand travels down the length of his face.  

 

Her vice-like grip on his chin takes by him surprise, if the grunt that he lets out at the gesture is any indication. The ex-Ultimate Cosplayer leans in and starts whispering something to Ouma’s ear, her lips so close that they almost brush against his skin. Ouma remains still next to hear, listening to what she has to say. When she finally leans back he releases a quiet breathy laugh and sends her an amused smile.

 

“Try me,” he challenges.

 

At that Shirogane practically jumps to her feet and fishes the small pocket knife out of her bag, the same one that used to threaten Ouma with before. Before Momota has a chance to assess the situation - Shirogane’s already behind him. He wants to turn back, uncomfortable with the prospect of not seeing her face, but before he can he feels long pale fingers clasping around his arm, just below the elbow, grip strong and unrelenting. He can feel something sharp and cold pressed against his throat, forcing his head up. He instinctively wants to take a step back but finds himself pressed against Shirogane’s much smaller frame in a tasteless mockery of a hug.

 

She rests her head on his shoulder from behind and even though he can’t see it he can feel the warmth of her body and the sharp edge of the knife where it presses against his neck. It’s the second time in what could be no more than half an hour that she threatens one of them with a knife, his current position parodying the one Ouma was in earlier..

 

He feels sick, not for the first time today.

 

The blade grazing the skin of Momota’s neck presses harder and he grunts. He looks at Shirogane, but she doesn’t even look at him, her gaze never once leaving the Supreme Leader’s smaller figure.

 

“You are so predictable, Shirogane-chan,” he sounds disinterested with the scene unfolding before him, looking at two other occupants of the cell through half-lidded eyes. “And repetitive, too!”

 

Suddenly crocodile tears gather in the corners of his eyes, his eyes turning glassy and lower lip quivering. “A-and here I thought that I w-was the only one you t-touched like that. I’ve never felt so betrayed in my life, Shirogane-chan!”

 

He continues to weep, but then suddenly the tears leave his eyes, as if they were never there and his stare hardens. “If you think that’s going to work then, woah, you are even dumber than I thought, Shirogane-chan.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Puh-lease,” laughs Ouma carelessly, his voice dismissive and bordering on bored. “I’m the Supreme Leader of Evil! Thousands of people died under my command, so you can’t expect me to care about little ol’ Momota-chan. Besides!” He exclaims loudly as if he has just realized something, eyes going wide and smile turning a bit more cheeky. “Momota-chan would be a horrible subordinate anyway! Easily replaceable.”

 

Shirogane giggles, Momota can feel her body shaking against his back and all he can hear is this voice in his head chanting continuously I hate you, _I hate you,_ **_I HATE YOU---_ **

 

“Is that so,” she murmurs quietly and there’s a dangerous note to her voice.

 

Ouma nods his head enthusiastically.

 

“It’s totally so!”

 

One of the corners of her mouth gets tugged in a half-smile.

 

“I see.”

 

For a long while she and Ouma just keep staring at each other, a silent confrontation that Momota doesn’t truly understand. He doesn’t dare to move, frozen in place, disgust soaring through his veins as he feels Shirogane’s long nails digging into the skin of his arm where she keeps him in place, leaving little crescent-like shapes. He can feel her pressing on him from behind, warm and undeniably human, despite everything.

 

He feels a momentary stinging pain where the blade rests against his skin and then Shirogane smirks and the pressure on his throat disappears. He takes a shuddering breath, not daring to move, her hand still clasped just below his elbow.

 

He doesn’t know the game they’re playing. He doesn’t know the rules and he doubts that there even are any. All he wants to do is to close his eyes and be somewhere else when he opens them again. Just with Shuichi and Maki back when everything was alright, back when everything was _normal._

 

She takes a step back and he can breath again.

 

“Oh, Ouma-kun,” she says, mirth in her eyes as her fingers trace the blade of the knife, feather-like touch. When she speaks her voice is full of pure delight. “I have to admit, nothing is ever boring with you around.”

 

“Are you testing me, Shirogane-chan?” He asks cheekily, tone of his voice not matching the cold glint in his gaze. “Are you trying to prove something here?”

 

The words are meant for Shirogane, but lilac eyes are fixed on Momota and the thin trail of blood that trickles down the Ultimate Astronaut’s neck.

 

Shirogane smirks.

 

“And what if I am?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT'S IN THE SYRINGE??!! AAAAAAAAA ;3;
> 
>  
> 
> You know, I had this chapter planned in my head for almost three months. I'm so glad that I can finally post it, it feels like such a milestone. I'm really curious what you think, if you have any theories, what did you like or didn't like, all that stuff :3 
> 
> Comments and kudos feed my creativity!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I warned you before about what’s going to happen if you don’t behave,” she chastises him and he feels like screaming, sick of being treated like a little boy. He practically seethes when their eyes meet, the smirk plastered on her face infuriating to look at. “I told you that if you fail to do what you’re asked to do Ouma-kun will be the one to pay the price.”
> 
>  
> 
> His eyes widen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **CW:** cutting, blood, graphic description of wounds, mental torture (which mostly just means despair in this case)

“Are you testing me, Shirogane-chan?” Ouma asks cheekily, the tone of his voice not matching the cold glint in his gaze. “Are you trying to prove something here?”

 

The words are meant for Shirogane, but his lilac eyes are fixed on Momota and the thin trail of blood that trickles down the Ultimate Astronaut’s neck.

Shirogane smirks.

 

“And what if I am?”

 

Ouma sizes her up but chose to remain silent.

 

When Shirogane doesn’t get a response she just shrugs and continues. “Don’t worry, Ouma-kun, for now I’m mostly just testing Momota-kun here,” she points to the astronaut next to her who almost jumps at the sudden attention, surprise flashing through his eyes. She reaches out her hand, beckoning him closer with foreboding intentions.

 

Momota sends Ouma a quick glance, as if expecting some kind of advice, but the Supreme Leader’s only response is a stare and pursed lips. Seeing that he can’t count on him, Momota turns back to Shirogane and regards her warily but eventually complies and takes a step closer.

 

He’s surprised when she slips the pocket knife that was just pressed against his neck into his hands. When he refuses to hold it, she grasps his arm and wraps his fingers around the knife, keeping them there securely.

 

“Trust me, you’ll need it,” she says amiably as if she wasn’t just threatening to kill him less than five minutes ago.

 

He’s suddenly hit with a vision of sinking the knife deeply into her stomach, a vision so tempting and feasible, no longer only an empty threat but an actual possibility, something within his reach. It would be oh-so-easy to fling himself at her, make her repay for all the pain she caused them, make her bleed, make her leave them alone _for good_ —

 

He snaps out of the fantasy, suddenly feeling like throwing up. He’s definitely losing his grip, because these thoughts, these urges he’s been getting lately, all of this... this _isn’t him_. He won’t let it be him because that is not who Kaito Momota, the Luminary of the Stars is supposed to be.

 

His feelings must show on his face because Shirogane smiles at him knowingly.

 

She doesn’t let his hand free, instead moving to where Ouma is still on the ground and kneels down next to the smaller boy, pulling him down with her. Reluctantly, he kneels down next to her, a morbid sense of déjà vu settling in his stomach.

 

The grip on his wrist is tight and was for sure going to leave finger-shaped bruises once she lets go. He doesn’t seem to have much choice in terms of movement as she guides his hand until the tip of the knife is pressed against one of many old wounds scattered across Ouma’s pale skin. For the smaller boy’s credit, he once again trains his expression perfectly and only lets out a nearly inaudible hiss when the icy tip of the blade comes in contact with the exposed skin of his forearm. Momota can feel his hand shake, but Shirogane steadies it, the feeling of her cold fingers on his skin burning. The injury Shirogane pokes at with the knife is really just a big scab, a barely healed one at that, reds and blacks blending together and tainted with a tad of yellowish pus oozing out of the scab. The ever-present bile in Momota’s throat swells some more and he fights the urge to gag at the sight before him, the muscles of his throat contracting painfully. There’s no doubt about it, the wound is obviously infected and there’s little that could be done about it. Somehow he doesn’t think that Shirogane would equip them with bandages and antiseptic, no matter how nicely he asked. Briefly, he thinks that it’s a miracle that the scab didn’t get peeled off when he was helping Ouma to get out of the straitjacket. He shudders at the mere thought of that happening. Shirogane lets the knife rest there for a moment threateningly, not piercing the skin, just pressing against the red-brimmed contours of the wound and scanning Ouma’s face with her face slightly tilted to the side, wearing an almost expectant look on her face. Momota doesn’t know what she’s looking for but the nearly blank and pointedly bored expression Ouma offers her is unnerving to say the least.

 

Shirogane’s grip on Momota’s hand tightens even more and with no warning whatsoever she suddenly pushes the blade right into the wound on Ouma’s arm. A choked up yell leaves Momota’s lips before he can even think about stopping himself.

 

Shirogane grins and digs the knife deeper into Ouma’s skin.

 

It goes on for a while and soon enough blood is dribbling down the entire length of Ouma’s arm like crimson rivulets, his face scrunched up in pain as Momota’s hand — under Shirogane’s guidance — presses deeper into the wound. The blood kept on pouring, staining Momota’s fingers red.

 

Finally, after what feels like eternity, Shirogane seems to be satisfied. Her grip on Momota’s hand loosens and she lets him pull the knife away from the wound.

 

He releases a sigh, glad that it seems to be over, but his relief doesn't last long.

 

“Are you familiar with the English term ‘to rub salt in the wound’, Momota-kun?”

 

He swallows and shakes his head. He doesn’t like where this is going. He doesn’t like it _at all._

 

He can feel the fingers of her other hand, the one that she wrapped around his shoulders in a near-hug, tracing circles on his skin, the touch deceivingly soothing. Shirogane smiles and continues, the tone of her voice suspiciously soft, making him tense even more. “It means making the situation or injury that is already bad even worse.” She pauses to smile at him devilishly, “And that is exactly what we’re going to do today!”

 

Faster than he can even question her, she reaches to the little leather bag still resting against her hips and fishes out a small plastic bag out of it. He squints, trying to see the contents of the bag better. It looks like a handful of what, at the first glance, seems to be some kind of white powder.

 

Shirogane notices his stare and winks at him. And with one sweeping move she throws it all at Ouma’s arm.

 

It feels like the whole world slows down, like everything’s happening in slow motion.

 

Salt, he realizes a second too late, the feeling of numb horror spreading through his veins as he watches helplessly as white crystalline particles fall down on the fresh and still-bleeding wound.

 

Ouma _shrieks._

 

It’s a piercing, shrill sound that resonates in the small confine of the cell and sends Momota’s blood boiling. For a moment there he loses control as something in him just _snaps._

 

All he sees is white as his arm swings around and connects with Shirogane’s face, sending her to the floor. The look of utter shock crosses her face seconds before she drops down like a sack of potatoes.  

 

Momota stands next to her, easily towering over her smaller form, nostrils flared. The knife he’s been holding in a deadly grip falls to the ground with a loud clanking sound. He’s panting, his chest heaving and unrestrained fury still flowing through his veins as the ringing in his ears fades away slowly. His fists are clenched tightly at his sides, eyes narrowed to crinkled slits and his whole frame shakes slightly in unspoken rage.

 

Shirogane tentatively touches her cheek and raises her eyes to look straight into Momota’s burning-with-hatred eyes. It’s clear that he wouldn’t hesitate to hit her again. And again and again and _again_.

 

Her cheek stings painfully and she’s pretty sure that the blow left a mark on her face from the burning sensation she feels where his fist collided with her face. She giggles softly, standing up slowly, her legs a bit wobbly. She has to admit, he really got her this time. Momota was always prone to lashing out when provoked, she knew that something like what just transpired would happen eventually. However, the sudden attack took her by surprise if only by the suddenness of it all. Her fellow Ultimate always was like an open book, every emotion, thought and desire written all over his face. It was never hard to predict his next course of action and yet he still managed to surprise her.

 

She takes a few steps closer to him and bends to pick up the knife that he dropped on the ground, fingers tracing the sharp outline of the blade.

 

“That wasn’t very wise of you, Momota-kun,” she scolds him good-naturedly.

 

Momota grits his teeth but says nothing.

 

“I warned you before about what’s going to happen if you don’t behave,” she chastises him and he feels like screaming, sick of being treated like a little boy. He practically seethes when their eyes meet, the smirk plastered on her face infuriating to look at. “I told you that if you fail to do what you’re asked to do Ouma-kun will be the one to pay the price.”

 

His eyes widen.

 

_If you fail to behave I will have to hurt your little friend instead._

 

She _did_ say that, didn’t she? Shortly before they entered the cell, back when he didn’t even know that it was _Ouma’s_ cell. It’s difficult to believe that it was only earlier today, no more than a few hours ago.

 

It feels like this day is never going to end.

 

It’s hardly important right now, however, as the intention behind Shirogane’s words starts to slowly sink in, filling him with dread.

 

“N-no,” he manages to choke out as his eyes dart in Ouma’s direction.

 

The other Ultimate is still kneeling in the same position as he did before, head dropped and limp strands of hair hanging over his pale face. The boy’s lips are pressed into a thin line and he regards the scene before him with what seems like feigned disinterest, as if watching how things are going to unfold and refusing to get involved. This is so unlike Ouma and  Momota feels the anxiety churning in his stomach disconcertingly. Ouma’s silence is more distressing than anything else, unnatural and heavy in the air. It’s not like Momota can blame him, not really, but he still feels uneasy seeing the usually energetic boy who is always spurting nonsense and taunting him mercilessly day to day so quiet, so… _detached_. It’s like he’s not even here, only observing the events and not partaking in them like he’s not even involved. Momota can’t help but wonder how much of it is just an act, a defence against the impossible circumstances they’ve found themselves in and how much of it is Ouma’s true nature finally peeking through the thick layers of lies. Would that mean that he’s finally starting to break under pressure? The thought nearly sends a shiver down the length of Momota’s spine.

 

His eyes travel down, down Ouma’s lithe form to the wound that his own hand helped to create. The skin around the wound is irritated, redness spreading slowly. The scream of pure agony that he let out when salt landed on the wound still echoes in Momota’s ears, making his head throb painfully.  

 

Sure, he and Ouma never got along well, constantly butting heads, their wild chases famous in the entire academy. However, despite many disputes between them, he would never intentionally harm Ouma, no matter how many times he’s said otherwise during the years they’ve known one another.

 

The smile that stretches on Shirogane’s lips is positively vicious.

 

“Yes.”

 

“So let me make something clear, Momota-kun. When I give you an order to do something, even if it’s going to cause pain Ouma-kun — you do it.”

 

His mouth flies open immediately, ready to protest, but a long slender finger lands on his lips, making him swallows any words that threaten to get out. He recoils and takes a step back, disgust written all over his face.

 

The smile that she sends him is saccharine, teal eyes glimmering dangerously.

 

“And why would I do that?” he challenges her, fists balling into fists. “What if I refuse?”

 

“Oh, I don’t think you will,” she informs him patiently.

 

Momota frowns.

 

“Yeah? What makes you so sure?” Momota asks confrontationally, but deep inside his gut he knows he’ll dread knowing the answer.

 

“Because if you refuse to do what I want you to do —  I will do it myself. But it will be ten times worse.”

 

She leans in, her breath tickling his skin as he finds himself face to face with _her_ , _her_ eyes swirling with what can be only described as despair.

 

“So what you’re going to do,” Shirogane’s voice is poisonous, eyes glazed over, “is take this knife,” she pushes it into his hands,” and do the same thing I did to every wound on Ouma-kun’s body. And once you run out of them you will make new ones and pour salt on every single one of them.”

 

If she says something after that then he doesn’t hear that, her words swallowed by the ringing in his ears. He’s vaguely aware that he’s gaping, but he couldn’t care less. Suddenly everything feels foreign and distant. _Is this despair_ , he wonders as the unfamiliar feeling of helplessness washes over him, swallowing any other feeling, dominating his every waking thought.

 

The next thing he knows is that he’s once again kneeling in front of Ouma, Shirogane’s arms around his shoulders as she positions him, guiding one of his hands to rest on Ouma’s shoulder for balance and making sure that the other one is firmly wrapped around the knife. He doesn’t fight her when she once again presses the knife to the same wound as earlier, doesn’t even flinch when Ouma squirms and whimpers softly, the wound that managed to close slightly in the meantime now reopening once more at the smallest of touches.

 

And then the impossible happens.

 

The hollow sound of a fist colliding with the heavy door of the cell snaps Momota out of his trance. He turns in the direction of the door, his eyes dazed and unfocused as he blinks wildly trying to chase away this unfamiliar overwhelming feeling that he got lost in. It feels like emerging after a long time spend underwater, taking deep, greedy breaths and desperately trying to fill his lungs back with oxygen.

 

Shirogane curses under her breath and quickly stands up and rushes to the door, the knocking becoming more persistent. A deep scowl decorates her face, long ponytails bouncing with her every step, heels clicking against the hard dirty floor of the cell.

 

“What is it?” she snapped, not even bothering to hide the irritation seeping through her words. There’s a dangerous glint in her eyes, a warning, as she glares at the door as if it would set the culprit behind disturbing her despair ablaze.

 

For a long moment there is no response but then a soft voice comes out from the other side of the door.

 

“It’s urgent.”

 

Shirogane scowls and fishes the key out of the bag she tossed it into before and opens the door revealing the person standing behind it fully.

 

Momota’s eyes widen.

 

The first thing his eyes land on is a mask that covers the girl’s face. It’s a simple mask with plus-like slits where the eyes should be and a clown-like nose. The more Momota looks at it the more insistent is the vague feeling that he’s seen it somewhere before. Long brown hair are cascading on the girl’s shoulders and flowing down the length of her back, its ends brushing against the back of her knees. She looks frail and thin and young, much younger than any of them, including Ouma. What is the most surprising, however, is her attire. It is an exact replica of the Supreme Leader’s costume, the same one Momota’s seen Ouma wear almost every day during their time at Hope’s Peak Academy. Everything from the familiar ripped shirt to white straps dangling from the is the same. The only thing missing is the checkered scarf, the sharp lines of the girl’s collarbones peeking from underneath the thin and ripped material of the shirt.  

 

Momota can feel Ouma tense under his touch where his hand still rests on the other Ultimate’s shoulder and sends a quick glance in Ouma’s way, meaning to ask whether he is alright now that Shirogane’s attention is somewhere else, even if only temporarily. He freezes, however, when his eyes land on the Supreme Leader’s face, taken aback and confused by the sight before him as thousands of questions are swirling through his head. Ouma’s not even looking at him, instead gaping at the figure standing in the doorway of the cell, his eyes wide and glistering under the dim flickering light of the single light bulb. For the first time since he got there Momota sees such raw emotion in Ouma’s eyes, the mask he used to hide behind finally slipping from his face in a moment of rare vulnerability.

 

It’s hard to tell because of the mask concealing the girl’s face, but the girl’s gaze seems to flicker in Ouma’s direction for a split-second before she faces Shirogane fully.   

 

“There is a problem,” she says simply. When she speaks her voice soft and quiet and devoid of emotions. It doesn’t feel right coming from someone so young.

 

“Problem?” huffs Shirogane pushing the glasses higher up her nose with a finger. “What kind of problem?”

 

The girl shakes her head, looking over Shirogane’s shoulder pointedly. The cosplayer follows her gaze, her eyes falling on her two captives still huddled up in the far corner of the cell. Momota’s grip on Ouma’s shoulder tightens when magenta eyes meet the teal ones.

 

Shirogane clicks her tongue. “I see.”

 

Whatever it is - it is meant for her ears only.

 

Shirogane sends them one last glance, her lips pursed, a barely masked irritation clear in the deep lines forming on her forehead. It isn’t ideal, but whatever the news is it must be urgent, otherwise no one would dare to interrupt her little game. She made it very clear that she is to be left alone when visiting her playthings. It’s a shame really, especially now that things were finally starting to get interesting. Frustration crinkles her eyes as she mentally curses the situation. Normally she wouldn’t let anything distract her from her little game, but the more practical and reasonable part of her knows that no one would dare to interrupt her fun if it wasn’t something of the utmost importance.

 

She doesn’t miss the look on Ouma’s face, the slightest traces of despair breaking through his facade and tainting his almost childlike features. The corner of her lips tugs upwards and she almost sighs dreamily at the delightful expression he’s making. Truth be told, she didn’t expect to get such a raw reaction out of him, not in response to something that wasn’t a physical pain.

 

And then there’s Momota. Her chest almost bursts with giddiness as the memory of his eyes suddenly turning murky and swirling with hopelessness, the utter despair embedded in the normally hopeful features of his face.

 

She shudders with delight. She can’t wait to see more of it.

 

However, it seems like there are more urgent matters at the moment. Ones that demand her immediate attention.

 

“I’ll be back,” she informs her little playthings curtly and follows the other girl out of the cell.

 

The door closes behind her with a hollow thud and a click of the key turning in the lock and leaves the two occupants of the cell in near-deafening silence.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof.
> 
> Short but intense chapter! I'm gonna be honest, this chapter was supposed to be completely different, practically none of it was planned. So it's a total improvisation :'D 
> 
> Also, it got real dark real quick, I'm curious what you think about this turn of events! : >


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Shit, shit, shit,” chants Momota nervously, clumsily trying to press against his wounded arm with a forcibly ripped off piece of the white shirt he's usually wearing to stop the constant flow of blood. It quickly proves to be unsuccessful, only smearing more blood on Ouma’s skin and staining the cloth with a vibrant shade of red. The astronaut swears loudly. Despite himself, Ouma can feel the corners of his lips twitch with some kind of grim amusement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for my wonderful beta, @asteroidtaker (Tumblr)!
> 
> CW: underage drinking

Shirogane leads them towards the direction of her office, not turning even once to look and check whether the other girl is following her. She already knows that she has to.

 

When they reach the familiar, big mahogany door she fishes a monochrome card with Monokuma’s sinister smile printed on it out of her pocket and slips it into the card reader slot of the door. It lets out a short beep sound, flashes green and then the door slides aside with ease and lets them in.

 

It’s a small room and it looks remarkably like a stereotypical white-collar office. It has a desk and a few shelves full of classified files with the only noteworthy feature being that one of the walls is covered entirely with monitors. For now none of them shows anything, black and white dots filling the screens and a static quiet buzzing sound is resounding throughout the room.

 

Shirogane immediately heads to the desk and sits behind it, clasping her hands in front of her on the mahogany desktop. She looks like a businesswoman ready to interview a new candidate for the job, her back straight and eyes sharp behind the glasses.

 

The younger girl closes the door behind them and stands there, visibly content with her position next to the wall and not intent on closing the distance between her and the cosplayer.

 

“So? What is it?” asks Shirogane impatiently “I have better things to do, you know.”

  
She doesn’t even try to pretend that she’s not angry, especially not now that they are here alone, the tone of irritated impatience prickling in her throat. She’s been so close - so close! - and she’s not about to let her little playthings wait for too long, not now, not when their despair is finally within her reach.

 

She’s about to indulge herself in the memory of Momota’s swirling eyes and fantasies of Ouma’s cute childish face stricken by despair when the girl finally opens her mouth to reveal what’s been so urgent and all thoughts flee Shirogane’s mind.

 

-

 

The cell is deafeningly quiet for a long time, both Ouma and Momota frozen in place, Momota’s fingers still digging into the skin of Ouma’s shoulders. The smaller boy doesn’t seem to notice, however, his eyes still fixed on the door, his lower lip caught between his teeth as he bites it worryingly with enough force to taste blood on his tongue.

 

It’s Momota who first snaps out of it and it’s only because he can feel something sticky and warm trickling down his wrist. Surprised, he looks down at his hand only to be suddenly hit by the truth of reality when he realizes that it’s blood, fresh and real.

 

The wound on Ouma’s arm looks horrible, blood still seeping out of it and staining the ground. Momota becomes painfully aware of the fact that he’s never liked the sight of blood when the uneasy churning sensation in his stomach makes itself known, making him feel nauseous. The smell of copper is heavy in the air and he has to swallow the urge to flee to the far corner of the room and put as much distance between himself and Ouma as possible.

 

Momota Kaito is not a coward but in this moment he almost wishes that he was. Maybe then he could just succumb to the despair already and not feel so terrible anymore about everything.

 

-

 

Ouma doesn’t truly register what is happening around him at first, the image of long hair and warm honey-colored eyes hidden by the all-too-familiar mask that he helped to design still burning beneath his eyelids. It isn’t until he hears the sound of material being ripped off that he finally blinks away the tears that threatened to spill from the corners of his eyes and looks down.

 

He stares at the scene in front of him with blank eyes.

 

“Shit, shit, shit,” chants Momota nervously, clumsily trying to press against his wounded arm with a forcibly ripped off piece of the white shirt he's usually wearing to stop the constant flow of blood. It quickly proves to be unsuccessful, only smearing more blood on Ouma’s skin and staining the cloth with a vibrant shade of red. The astronaut swears loudly. Despite himself, Ouma can feel the corners of his lips twitch with some kind of grim amusement.  

 

Old habits die hard he supposes and watching Momota as he gets progressively more and more frustrated was always a treat, his classmate’s short temper almost comical to see.

 

He’s not amused for long however, because it’s then that he notices the astronaut’s clenched jaw and rigid muscles. Momota is breathing hard and his arms and hands shake when he pries the bloodstained material from the wound and once again Ouma is hit with the realization of how different things are now. They’re not at Hope’s Peak anymore.

 

Right now they’re in a dark, damp room, both slowly dying and Momota is spiraling out of control. And fast.

 

His eyes look dim and are swirling with something that Ouma doesn’t understand but has learned to recognize. Despair.

 

He needs to put a stop to it before the situation gets even more out of hand.

 

“Momota,” Ouma interrupts the other’s quickly progressing panic attack, the look in his eyes cold, voice hard and commanding. He needs Momota’s eyes on him. He needs to snap him out of it, whatever it takes. The last thing he needs right now is to have Momota’s sanity on his conscience.

 

Momota looks up, confused, probably because of the sudden lack of honorific and the unusual firmness in Ouma’s voice. Magenta eyes meet lilac ones and for a long moment all Ouma does is just keep his gaze on him, as if making sure that he’s actually listening, that he’s actually aware of what is going on around him.

 

In his mind there’s a raging battle as he looks for the words that would calm Momota down, looks for any reassurance he could offer now. Think, he urges his useless brain, Think! What would help, what comfort could he offer when everything is falling apart around him, when Momota’s already losing it, when he’s blaming himself and-

 

_Oh._

 

Right. There is _something._

 

“I have a theory,” starts Ouma slowly, eyes still fixed on the astronaut, his gaze not even once slipping from his face. He tries to keep his voice calm, forcing a look of seriousness on his features.

 

“Shirogane-chan didn’t inject me with anything.”

 

Silence. Momota stares at him, now incredulously.

 

Ouma huffs, quickly realizing that it probably wasn’t the best choice of words.

 

“Okay, okay, fiiine!” He pouts childishly. “She didn’t inject me with anything _bad_. So you should stop acting like a kicked puppy, this is really annoying. I’m gonna be fine!”

 

Momota looks unconvinced, the look of skepticism so out of place on his usually optimistic face.

 

“And what makes you so sure?” He sounds bleak and disbelieving, almost bordering on accusatory, his hands curling into fists at his sides as he digs his nails deep into the skin of his palms.

 

Ouma moves his head to the side and fights the urge to let out a condescending tone slip into his voice as if he’s dealing with some especially indocile child.

 

“Because, my dear Momota-chan, she wants me alive.”

 

To his surprise Momota seems to consider his words, a shadow of hesitation passing across his face. Ouma waits patiently, shifting slightly in his bonds and presses his lips harder when a surge of pain pierces through his body when some cold air hits his wound. He can feel his hands going numb and the trail of blood running down his arm starts to dry, sticking to his skin in a way that only increases his discomfort. He's trying not to think about it. The wound, the dizziness, the dull pain in his legs and the black spots dancing before his eyes... It's all nothing. He's going to be fine.

 

Momota swallows the heavy, accumulated saliva he built up out of nervousness. 

 

“Why? How do you know that?”

 

“Momota-chan,” Ouma’s eyes turn uncharacteristically serious, voice softer than normal and lacking its usual impish note, almost conciliatory. “Shirogane-chan is just playing mind games with us,” he explained plainly. “She’s _the_ Ultimate Despair, don’t underestimate her. If she wanted me dead, she would have killed me already.” He informs him matter of factly. “Sure, Remnants like to play with their prey, but I’ve been here long enough to know that she’s not bored of me. She wants me alive, at least for now.”

 

Momota is confused, he can tell, but at least the swirling is gone from his gaze, his eyes look a little clearer. More focused. More here.

 

Ouma can work with that.

 

“Momota-chan,” he looks straight into his eyes, his gaze intense and demanding Momota’s full attention.“I need you to stay calm and,” Ouma’s voice wavers and he pauses to lick his chapped lips and take a deep breath, calm the frantic buzzing of his thoughts, “and trust me. Can you do that?”

 

He can’t have Momota spiraling into despair again. He’s not sure if he would ever reach him entirely, not with everything else going on, not with how helpless Ouma himself feels in the face of everything that is happening.

 

He can only hope that his plan is working. He can only hope that the people outside of this prison are doing their best to take despair down. As it is now, all he can do is buy them more time.

 

Finally, Momota nods and even though Ouma can’t be sure if he really means it or he’s doing it only because he doesn’t want to disappoint him, it’s still a success in his book.

 

He lets out an internal sigh of relief, closing his eyes and lets himself relax as much as it’s possible in his uncomfortable position on the floor, the fatigue and the throbbing ache of his muscles growing impossible to ignore. It’s harder with Momota here. It’s harder knowing that Shirogane will use any slip in his mask, any sign of vulnerability against the astronaut.

 

Momota clears his throat and when he speaks again the words are laced with uncertainty. Not enough uncertainty, however, to tame his curiosity.

 

“So… Who was that girl?”

 

Ouma’s eyes instantly snap open and looks at the other occupant of the cell. A pair of magenta eyes is staring at him with barely withheld interest.

 

“No one,” he says finally and it comes out as a whisper, voice slightly hoarse and eyes closing as he tries to squash the memories behind his eyelids. All he wants to do is to sleep, drown out everything else, every nagging thought, every pointless emotion, let it be swallowed by darkness as he slowly drifts out of consciousness. He knows that dreams won’t bring him comfort, they barely ever do, but at this point he’s too exhausted to care.

 

He’s vaguely aware of the fact that Momota continues to stare at him, some kind of disappointed sound that he doesn’t even bother to stop escaping his lips. He pretends that he doesn’t hear it.

 

After a moment, Momota shuffles closer to him, once again reaching for the piece of cloth that he tried to use as a makeshift bandage earlier and wraps it around Ouma’s arm to tie it up in a big messy knot. It’s not perfect by any means, but the simple action seems to be helpful for his nerves and he even manages to smile faintly at his handiwork.

 

The silence stretches between them and Ouma lets himself immerse in his thoughts, using this scarce moment of peace and quiet to collect himself and clear his mind, let logic chase away the doubts. He thinks about his plan and wonders if it’s working, wonders if it’s all for nothing and this sacrifice will be just another addition to his long list of failures. Trapped in this cell all he can do is wait.

 

“What is…” starts Momota suddenly and immediately trails off. He looks nervous, eyes flickering to Ouma in a way that on anyone else would look almost shy, and then averts his gaze. Ouma waits patiently for the other to gather his thoughts. It’s not like Momota to stay quiet for too long and it’s probably better for the astronaut’s poor mental state to humour him than to let him regress to this hopeless state Shirogane intended to provoke.

 

Momota’s Adam apple bobs as he swallows the bile lodged in his throat and tries again.

 

“What is going to happen to us now?”

 

Ouma hums and lifts his gaze to look at the ceiling, the light of the flickering bulb making his eyes hurt.

 

“We wait,” he states with such confidence that it sounds as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

 

For a moment Momota is quiet, as if mulling over his words.

 

He eyes Ouma with apparent skepticism and the small leader almost laughs at the wary expression he’s giving him. That looks more like Momota he knows and loves to tease!

 

“You have a plan, don’t you?”

 

Ah.

 

He sends Momota a lopsided smile. There it is! The slightest flicker of hope is back in the astronaut’s eyes. There’s something relieving about this sight, considering that hope was always more Momota’s thing rather than Ouma’s. Funny, how the roles seem to have switched.

 

Ouma giggles and tilts his head to the side, sending Momota an amused smirk. If his hands weren’t bound he would press a finger against his lips as if he had a secret that he chose not to share for the full effect. As it is, all he can do in these circumstances is smile wider.

 

“It’s for me to know and for you to find out, Momota-chan!”

 

-

 

The DICE girl is long gone and since then Shirogane managed to down almost an entire bottle of wine. It’s an expensive one and it burns in her throat pleasantly as she swallows another glass in just one go. It feels like her stomach is set on flames and she can’t help but love it.

 

The girl’s words still echo in her head.

 

The Ultimate Despair, Junko Enoshima, is dead.

 

Junko is dead.

 

Junko. Dead.

 

Despair is all Shirogane can feel right now. It swallows her whole until she feels small and insignificant, until she feels like she’s shrinking, until she’s nothing and it feels exhilarating, it feels like she’s being reborn.

 

“Junko’s gone,” she giggles drunkenly to herself, tilting the bottle held unsteadily in her hand to the side too much, resulting in almost half the bottle spilling on her skirt.

 

“Whooops,” she laughs some more and with a shaking hand reaches to put the bottle and whatever is left in it on the table. It’s almost on the edge, so close that a simple gust of wind could come and spill its contents on the floor, but she doesn’t care, she doesn’t care.

 

She laughs some more, delighted.

 

It’s plainly perfect. Splendid. Exquisite!

 

She’s drunk on despair and she couldn’t be happier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhh, sorry for the long wait. Truth be told, this chapter was a pain in the ass. I'm not doing so great with more chill chapters and both Ouma and Shirogane's perspectives are kind of tricky to write. But! I should have more time to write around Christmas and the next chapter includes a scene that I've been waiting MONTHS to write. It may or may not have something to do with a certain comment about water from chapter 2 *nudge nudge wink wink*
> 
> Oh, and I wanted to thank you all for all the comments you left me on the previous chapter! It really means the world to me, you are the best!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, @asteroidtaker (Tumblr) continues to be the best beta I could wish for! Thank you so much for all your help!  
> Second of all, I am organizing **Oumota Weekend 2019**! It runs from February 1st-3rd and it's a very important project for me. You can find the prompts, rules and FAQ on the official Tumblr: https://oumota-events.tumblr.com/ I hope that you will consider participating! 
> 
> **CW:** dubious consent (forced kissing), humiliation, mentions of bruises (again)

It felt like hours passed before Shirogane finally came back. To Momota’s utmost confusion she didn’t intend to continue her torture, simply barking at Momota to stand up, which he hastily did, scrambling to his feet with little grace. His muscles were aching from spending the last few hours on the hard ground, sitting next to Ouma with his back pressed against the unforgiving cold surface of the wall. He couldn’t imagine the pain Ouma must have been experiencing, curled up as tightly as his limited movement allowed him, shivering every now and then and struggling to stay awake, thick eyelashes fluttering every time he managed to pull himself out of the realm of sleep. At some point Momota took off his jacket and wrapped it around the smaller boy’s small frame, the thick material resting just under his chin. He avoided Ouma’s gaze but he could feel these lilac eyes staring at him intently, curiously. The bruises coating the skin just below Ouma’s eyes were even more noticeable now, the striking shades of purple and blue standing out on his sickly pale, thin skin. Momota was painfully aware of the fact that his own discomfort couldn’t even compare to Ouma’s. In the few hours - or at least he had to assume so as it was impossible to tell how much time has passed while trapped in this nightmare - that they’ve been waiting like this the smaller boy’s strength was fading gradually, exhaustion settling on his features and weighing down on him. There was very little that Momota could do to bring his former classmate any kind of comfort. And even if he could, he had serious doubts about whether Ouma would actually accept any consoling gestures.

 

_I need you to stay calm and trust me._

 

That is what Ouma said.

 

That is what Ouma _asked_ him to do.

 

Easier said than done, huh?

 

It is such a strange concept, trusting Ouma. In the whole time Momota’s known him he’s been nothing but a pain, lying and teasing and causing chaos wherever he went. He was often responsible for getting their whole class in trouble. He and Ouma always had a rocky relationship, Ouma’s constant teasing never failing to get a raise out of him, something that ended up in many epic and memorable chases across the Hope’s Peak Academy campus. Ouma was a brat in every sense of the word - loud, rude, childish and immature - and there was something so immensely satisfying about taking him down a peg once in a while. That smug smirk of his was enough to ignite _something_ in Momota and let the sense of competitiveness flare throughout his veins. Ouma always kept him on his toes, always just out of reach, face split in a wide smile even when Momota’s fists clasped around his shirt.

 

There was a time when Momota would pay all the money in the world in order to find out what was happening in that little head of his, what ridiculous plans he was hiding in there. Ouma Kokichi was a mystery and while Momota wasn’t the Ultimate Detective but he was a friend to one, his own curious nature urged him to learn more, urged him to strip Ouma of this wall of lies he surrounded himself with.

  
  


Something dangerous flashed through Shirogane’s face, teal eyes suddenly much more clear and alert than before, some of the drunken haziness fading away to give place to a cold glint.

 

She pushed her glasses higher up her nose and pointed a pale long finger in the direction of the far corner of the cell.

 

“Pick it up,” she commands.

 

Momota frowned, confused, but followed her finger until his eyes landed on the empty bottle of water discarded previously by Shirogane herself when she was helping Ouma drink. He turned to send her a questioning look but thought better of it when their eyes met, her merciless look unwavering. He didn’t feel like arguing with her, barely standing upright in his exhausted state. Obediently, he took the few steps that separated him from the bottle and bent to pick it up, his muscles screaming at him in protest. The whole time he could feel the burning weight of her gaze on his back, following his every move with the attentive stare of a predator.

 

Shirogane nodded approvingly when he straightened up, bottle in hand and with a jerk of her head she urged him to come closer. As soon as he was within reach she grabbed his arm, sharp fingernails digging into the skin as she pulled him closer. She reached to the leather bag still resting against her hip and fished out a pair of handcuffs, as his previous ones were currently clasped around Ouma’s thin wrists. Once they were securely in place, she again pushed her hand into the bag and after a moment of rummaging she pulled out the familiar-looking chain, which was once again attached to the cuffs encircling his wrists. She then took a few steps back and tugged at the chain, corners of her mouth twitching when Momota stumbled slightly when the handcuffs jerked, pulling him closer to his captor.

 

She looked around the room, taking in every detail. Her eyes rested for a longer moment on Ouma’s small form curled up against the wall and observing him through half-lidded eyes. He was perfectly still and if it wasn’t for the gentle rising and falling of his shoulders as he’s breathing Momota would easily believe that he was dead with so many bruises dotting his pale skin.

 

“Well, looks like everything’s fine,” she declared curtly, turning back to the other occupant of the cell. “Time to go.”

 

She tugged at the chain, urging Momota to start moving.

 

Momota blinked at her, surprised, when the realization of what that meant finally hit him.

 

“Wait,” he rasped out, only then realizing that his throat was burning, hours of misuse clear in his voice. “Where the hell are you taking me?”

 

 _It’s either this or we’re going to take a long, nice walk back to your personal cell and you’ll never see Ouma-kun again._ Shirogane’s previous threat echoes in his head and his eyes shift nervously between the Ultimate Supreme Leader and Shirogane, his body tensing as he’s getting ready to throw himself between the two of them, shielding Ouma from whatever it is that she’s planning and refusing to leave him alone.

 

Shirogane let out a theatrical sigh and turned to send him a disapproving look, tsk-ing quietly at his disobedience.

 

“Oh don’t worry hero, it’s hardly the last time you’ll see the little twink. I’m not done with both of you yet.”

 

Momota wanted to say something to that, let her know that he’s not afraid and that she can throw whatever she wants at them and they won’t break but he thought better of it. Ouma was in no shape to face any more torment now and provoking Shirogane couldn’t bring any good, especially when she was clearly losing her patience. Now that he looked at her he could notice some stray strands escaping her ponytails and noticeably bloodshot eyes. And then there was the smell… The smell that he vaguely recognized as alcohol.

 

He despised the idea of leaving Ouma here all alone, even if only for a few minutes. Guilt was gnawing at his insides and his protective instincts were screaming at him. It wasn’t much different from having Saihara or Harukawa here, he would be as frantic with worry as he was about leaving Ouma.

 

Unhappy, but aware that there wasn’t much that he could do, he decided to trust her words and followed Shirogane to the door and obediently stepped out of the cell.

 

He sent Ouma one last look, trying to convince himself that he’d only imagined his frail body slumping further down the wall. And then the door slammed shut with a hollow, deafening sound. The way back to his old cell was a quiet one as he merely allowed Shirogane to drag him back by the thin chain attached to the cuffs, digging into the skin of his wrists with each long step. Through the haze of tiredness he could pick up a vague sense of humiliation at being once again dragged around like a dog on a leash, muted by the overwhelming need to rest. Shirogane didn’t pay him any mind and when they finally reached their destination - the same cell he was being held before - she unceremoniously pushed him inside.

And this is how he finds himself back in his old cell, suddenly struck by an overwhelming wave of guilt washing over him. As Shirogane reaches to unfasten the clasp attaching the chain to his handcuffs and then slowly takes them off, too, he eyes the small space, suddenly realizing that somehow this sad excuse of a room is still incomparably superior to Ouma’s. The idea of going back to Ouma’s little cell suddenly feels suffocating, like the walls could collapse on him any moment if he went back there. He forces himself to calm down, clenched fists shaking at his sides.  

 

He’s slightly taken aback when he sees that instead of locking the door, Shirogane enters the room after him. She flicks the lights on (even the light bulb hanging from the ceiling somehow seems to be brighter than the one in Ouma’s cell) and mutters something that he can’t quite catch under her nose. This close he can once again smell the disgusting odor of alcohol that surrounds her, sticking to her hair and clothes. He thinks back to the girl he’s seen earlier, the one who snatched Shirogane away before she could continue torturing them and briefly wonders if there’s some connection.

 

He’s pulled out of his thought when she throws the empty water bottle at him. He lets out an embarrassing yelp and catches it awkwardly.

 

“Fill it up,” she urges him impatiently, slumping against the wall.

 

He was too tired to fight her on it, simply unscrewing the bottle and approaching the wall adjacent to the door, shoulders hunched and legs dragging on the dirty floor.

 

Unlike Ouma’s cell, which is completely bare, his actually has a few things and one of them is a sink. It was nothing much but compared to Ouma’s spartan conditions he suddenly feels grateful for this little ounce of normality. During his short stay in his cell he was never restrained in any way and he could drink whenever he wanted.

 

The water that starts to fall down is falling in a thin stream and he hesitantly lifts the bottle, so it could go straight inside. He scrunches his nose at the smell, an instant give away of its quite questionable quality. Nonetheless, he fills it to the brim and raises his eyes to look at her questioningly.

 

She comes closer and snatches the bottle along with the cap from his hands, screwing it in one swift movement, water slushing inside as she shakes it.

 

“You better get some sleep, hero,” she bares her teeth at him. “In the morning we’re going to have some more fun.”

 

And just like that she’s out of the cell, door slamming after her and Momota is suddenly swallowed by the silence of the room.

 

He feels lost. It’s a familiar feeling, haunting him ever since Shuichi disappeared. Momota was a man of action, being trapped in a small room with no ways of escape is like something straight out of his worst nightmares.

 

Momota shakes his head, as if to chase away the nagging thoughts and grits his teeth. No point in dwelling on things he doesn’t have any control over. Shirogane’s just getting started and as much as he hated agreeing with her… he does need that sleep.

 

At least the sink isn’t the only advantage his cell has over Ouma’s, there’s also a small bed… or at least what he decides to count as bed.

 

It’s a small couch jostled in the corner of the room, way too small for someone of his height and posture. It’s old and dirty, stains that look suspiciously like blood splattered all across its length and it looks like it’s about to start rotting. It’s impossible to tell what was the original color of the couch and he decides not to dwell on it. As much as he hates the idea of laying down on it, the mere idea of putting his face anywhere near it sending a spike of disgust down his spine… it’s still a better option than resting on the hard cold floor. Before he could simply use his jacket to avoid lying on the bare floor, but now he is simply out of options, his jacket still draped over Ouma’s narrow shoulders back in his cell.  

 

In the end, he settles on the couch, nose scrunching as the foul smell of the dirty material hits his nose. It doesn’t matter for long, however, because as soon as his head touches it he’s already out, sleep finally claiming him fully.

 

-

 

_Good morning, everyone! It is now 7 a.m. and nighttime is officially over! Time to rise and shine! Get ready to start another beee-yutiful day!_

 

Momota wakes up so abruptly that he almost falls off the bed/couch, managing to catch himself in the last moment. His eyes snap open and his head instinctively jerks in the direction of the voice. It’s high pitched and cheerful in an unsettling way, like there’s something off about it. It sounds vaguely familiar, but Momota can’t quite place where he’s heard that before.

 

Shirogane is standing in the door, mobile phone in hand and the astronaut slowly realizes that she must have played the previously recorded audio file. Her mouth twitches upward when she notices that he woke up and tucks the phone back to the leather bag once again wrapped around her hip.

 

“I promised you fun yesterday, Momota-kun so today we’re going to have some fun.”

 

She smiles at him in that plain, professional way he remembers from their time at Hope’s Peak and her voice sounds a lot like Shirogane he used to know, docile and gentle. He knows better than to believe it now but it still sends a pang of melancholy, longing for the old times. He wonders if she’s been brainwashed because it’s the only way he can accept this new Shirogane, hoping that her old passionate self is still buried somewhere deep beneath the surface.

 

With a grunt he gets on his feet. Before they leave she once again clasps the handcuffs around his wrists and he winces at the burning sensation where they dig into the already irritated skin.

 

The way back to Ouma’s cell is a short one, maybe because he’s so hyperfocused on each step he takes, memorizing the way, burning every turn and every corner into memory. This is something that he can do. This is how he can prove that he can be useful. A big chunk of his astronaut training was dependant on how fast he can remember things, how well he can store crucial information for later use. He counts every step he takes, every odd-colored brick, even the smallest bit of information that he can gather buried deep into his memory. It doesn’t escape him how Shirogane seems to be purposefully choosing the longer, more complicated route, being pretty sure that they passed the same corridor twice.

 

When they finally reach their destination Shirogane opens the door quickly and ushers him inside. While she hurries to free him of the handcuffs his eyes search for Ouma. Something in his chest clenches when he finds him in the same place he was the night before. But not in the same position. As soon as handcuffs land on the floor with a loud clank Momota rushes to his side, worry gnawing at his gut. Ouma’s small form was crumpled on the floor, cheek pressed against its dirty surface. Galaxy jacket fell from his shoulder, pooling in his lap. When Momota reaches him his eyes flutter open and look at him unfocused, like he's trying to break through a haze. Momota’s hands hover above him hesitantly for a long moment as a million thoughts began twirling around in his head. He isn’t sure what the best course of action is in this kind of situation, afraid to make things worse and startle the already weak leader. Once Ouma’s eyes finally seem to focus he lets out a quiet whine and tries to sit up. Momota’s jacket slumps even more and Ouma’s handcuffed hands come to view. The astronaut’s heart starts to slam against his ribs wildly at the sight of it, red angry cuts digging into the scattered with bruises skin. Ouma lets out a quiet hiss and winces when the material drags over his skin. Momota reaches out, his touch gentle and hesitant. He helps prop Ouma up and position him against the wall so he wouldn’t fall again. He’s just about to ask him if he’s alright when a voice from behind reminds him of the presence of the third person in the room.

 

“Oh my, he’s not doing so well now, is he?”

 

Shirogane tuts mockingly and Momota’s head wipes around to face her. He jumps to his feet, anger surging through his veins as the sudden movement makes him dizzy and he stumbles slightly. She smiles at him innocently, a spark in her teal eyes.

 

When she speaks again her voice is lower, every word slow and spoken with careful intent, eyes never once leaving Momota’s face, holding his gaze.

 

“Good thing that I have something to help.”

 

Slowly, almost in slow motion, she reaches to her bag and pulls out the same bottle he filled with water the night before.

 

Shirogane uncups it and brings it to her lips and Momota can’t help but stare as she drinks, his gaze fixed on her as she loudly and greedily gulps sip after sip. Even then she doesn’t break the eye contact. When she finally lowers the bottle she lets out a self-satisfied sigh, grin stretching slowly on her lips. She shakes the bottle, remaining water slushing inside as she looks at him with a teasing glint in her eyes.

 

“Come and take it.”

 

Momota all but snatches the bottle out of her hands, shaking violently with barely contained anger. He wants nothing more but to wipe this smug grin from her face, nothing more to scream and punch and not let her play with them again. But he swallows all this frustration and decides to focus on something that feels far more important right now.

 

Momota kneels next to Ouma, sending him an apologetic look. The Supreme Leader no longer looks completely out of it, his eyes a little clearer, sharper. But his movements are slow, sluggish, and not for the first time Momota wonders how much time he’s spent in this cell all alone. Not so long ago he’s seen him openly challenging Shirogane, playing along with her mind games but now all of sudden he’s just exhausted pile of limbs, barely able to keep himself awake.

 

Suddenly Momota is stricken with a thought so horrible that he almost loses his grip on the bottle. His eyes flicker to Ouma’s arm, to the spot where his own arm guided the syringe and pierced the skin…

 

_No._

 

 _No,_ he tells himself, shaking his head as if trying to throw the mere thought of it away. _No, it can’t be it._

 

Ouma said that it was all Shirogane’s trick, right?

 

He said she was just testing them and that nothing really bad would happen to him... _Right?_

 

He tries to chase those traitorous thoughts away and focus on the task at hand but even when he pushes them at the back of his mind they still remain there, lurking in the shadows.

He raises the bottle to Ouma’s mouth, blue-ish plastic almost pressing against his lower lip when the voice behind Momota’s back stops him suddenly just as he’s about to tip the bottle and let his former classmate drink.

 

“Tsk, tsk,” reprimands him Shirogane and he can feel his pulse quicken at the sound of her voice, anger swelling in his chest. “You’re doing it wrong, Momota-kun.”

 

He swallows a growl building on his lips and bites his tongue to prevent the escape of all the words - swears and curses and insults -  forming at its tip.

 

“Then how am I supposed to do it,” he manages through gritted teeth, struggling to loosen his grip on the bottle before he clenches it so hard that the water starts to run down his hand. He despises this smug expression that sticks to Shirogane’s face, her eyes nearly glistering in the dim room. It was nothing like when she was still merely a sweet cosplayer with a plainness-complex, excitement in her eyes whenever she finished a costume that she was particularly proud of or finished an anime series that she loved. It’s like watching a completely different person wearing Shirogane’s mask, strikingly similar but not quite the same.  

 

But that’s hardly one of his biggest problems. Because when Shirogane speaks up again he almost chokes on his own saliva, his eyes growing impossibly wide.

 

“I was thinking about some mouth to mouth action,” she smiles at him innocently. “The plain old me would have loved to recreate some of her favorite anime scenes. And aren’t you just _desperate_ to help our _beloved_ classmate, Momota-kun?”

 

This is the final straw.

 

Momota all but throws himself at her, a feral growl tearing itself from his mouth as his arm swings to punch her right in the face with the very bottle she gave him. He quickly realizes his mistake, however, when she catches his arm with a surprising ease, teal eyes narrowing into slits as she pulls him closer, her breath hot on his face.

 

“You just never learn, don’t you.”

 

She twists his arm and he yells in pain as the flare of pain surges through the length of it up to the shoulder.

 

“Don’t you dare test me, hero,” she practically spats in his face. This close he can see her eyes swirling.“I would love to see your despair and I can go to great lengths to see it, but don’t you dare think even for a second that I wouldn’t snap your spine like a twig at any moment if I only wanted to do so.”

 

And then the grip on his arm is gone and he can breathe again, throbbing pain still present even after she lets him go.

 

“You better get to work, hero.”

 

Momota clenches his hands so hard that his knuckles turn white, but there’s little that he can do. He sinks to his knees, shuffling closer to Ouma’s stumbled form. He searches the smaller boy’s face, looking for anything that could make things better but there’s nothing. He knows that it’s not fair for him to expect Ouma to have all the answers, some last trick shoved up his sleeve and waiting for the right moment. Sure, he said that he has a plan, but… Right now it’s pretty clear that they can forget about the plan.

 

He’s glad to see that Ouma at least seems to be more aware of the situation, lilac eyes rising to meet the mauvish ones. He still hasn’t said a word and there’s something worrying about his flushed cheeks but as it is Momota’s only concern is to get some water into him. He can spot the first signs of severe dehydration and hopes with all his heart that this is what caused this sudden deterioration of his condition rather than… the other option.

 

Momota carefully opens the bottle, his eyes asking, _pleading_ for any kind of sign that Ouma is fine with what’s going to happen next. And then, finally, through the haze of exhaustion, the leader seems to sense his apprehension, his lips twitching slightly. He nods, a small gesture, but one that isn’t lost on the astronaut. Momota can’t help but feel relief spreading over his body, the tight knot of guilt in his stomach loosening, even if only a little.

 

He takes one last shuddering breath and braces himself mentally.

 

He brings the bottle to his mouth and pours as much water as he can, enough to puff his cheeks a little. He doesn’t swallow the water but rather holds it in his mouth.

 

He reaches to brush the stray strands of hair that fell on Ouma’s face aside and his hot breath ghosts over Ouma’s lips when he leans in and brushes against them delicately with his own. Ouma lets out a quiet, barely audible squeak of surprise that in different circumstances would have been comical, his lilac eyes growing wide. He doesn’t fight him, though, and soon enough his chapped lips open, giving Momota an easy access.

 

Momota lifts his hand and grasps the leader’s chin, his grip soft but firm, careful not to hurt the other boy.

 

 _It’s now or never_ , he thinks bitterly and leans in closer and then slowly, finally - presses their lips together.

 

He miscalculates horribly and almost immediately Ouma pulls away as much as his still handcuffed hands let him, water escaping past his lips and dribbling down his chin. He chokes a little, coughing to get rid of the sudden intrusion of the water bursting into his lungs and for a second there Momota panics, anxiety swirling through his chest as he pulls away sputtering apologies.

 

It takes them both a moment to calm down, Ouma still coughing weakly. But Shirogane’s gaze on their backs is merciless.

 

Ignoring his pounding heart and all his instincts screaming at him to stop, Momota tries again, waiting until Ouma’s breath comes back to normal. He’s more gentle this time, learning from his previous mistakes. He doesn’t take as much water as before and waits until he’s absolutely sure that Ouma is able to take it. After a moment they find a rhythm and Ouma swallows the water with a hint of desperation in his eyes. He seems to forget about anything, driven by survival instinct alone as he clings to Momota and accepts the water with desperation that is almost scary.

 

Ouma’s lips are chapped and if Momota focuses strong enough he can make out the metallic taste of blood lingering there. It’s not an unpleasant sensation, but it’s not a nice one either. And it’s definitely not how Momota imagined his first kiss, if this… whatever it is can be even called that.

 

It’s a shameless mockery of a kiss and Momota can feel his cheeks burning as he lets the water flow down Ouma’s throat. He can feel his smaller body press closer when they finally find the right angle, greedily gulping down everything that Momota can offer him, lips pressing harder as he hungrily swallowed every last drop.

 

When they finally separate Momota is panting slightly, his lips moist and swollen. He lifts his hand and wipes them angrily, the angry blush that spread over his cheeks and reaches to the tips of his ears not fading in the slightest.

 

He turns to Shirogane.

 

“Happy now?” He doesn’t even try to hide the bitterness in his voice, mauvish eyes wild and furious.

 

Shirogane giggles and claps her hands, jumping in place like an excited child.

 

“Not quite, my dear Momota-kun.”

 

She steps closer to where he’s crouched on the floor and taps one of her long fingers against the plastic bottle.

 

“I believe that one sip is not enough to make Ouma-kun feel better,” she says quietly and the way she moves and speaks sends a shudder down Momota’s spine. She reminds him of a cat getting ready to pounce on a bird with a broken wing. “Good thing that there’s more water.”

 

Momota stares.

 

The bottle is still halfway full and some part of him is tempting him to just press it against Ouma’s lips, tilt it over and let him drink, the consequences be damned. But in the end he only clenches his fists, takes another mouthful of water and presses his fingertips to Ouma’s jaw, caressing the tense muscles and urging him to relax and open his mouth. Ouma’s eyes flutter shut and slowly, agonizingly slowly, Momota helps him drink the whole thing.

 

 _This is so fucked up_ , echoes in his head like a mantra on repeat the whole time. He tries to focus on his breathing, calming his pounding heart but it doesn’t help much. The water burns in his throat, but he can't stop, no matter how horrible it all is - he has to keep going. Ouma desperately needs every drop of water that he can give him, his skin suspiciously warm under his fingertips. So he keeps going, pushing the bundle of confusion, anger and shame at the back of his mind where it can't reach him.

 

After what feels like an eternity the bottle is empty. Lilac eyes flutter open and as Momota stares into them he realizes that he’s never felt more hopeless in his life.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I want to write 3-6 fics for Oumota Weekend that I'm organizing I'm not sure when I'm going to post chapter 7. This next month is going to be quite intense when it comes to writing, so please be patient with me! Thank you all for your support!
> 
> And as for this chapter... You know, I had this scene planned since September and I've never expected to feel so guilty about actually writing it but here I am now. Comments are very appreciated, I'm very curious how you feel about this turn of events, especially after all this water teasing! Come screaming at me, I deserve it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Momota is in his cell when the explosion happens.
> 
> First, there’s nothing, just the usual silence and stillness of yet another morning spent awaiting Shirogane’s return to take him to Ouma for whatever games she’d prepared for them for today. Then, a deafening, terrifying sound of an explosion pierces through the silence.
> 
> He jumps to his feet, eyes wide in alarm as he strains his ears, adrenaline pumping through his veins.
> 
> “What the-?!”
> 
> Ever since he had been thrown into this cell for the first time, he’s never heard any noise from the outside, cold and solid walls preventing any sounds from reaching his ears. For a sound this loud to carry itself all the way to him, it must have been a big explosion. Big and close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's pretend that I never went on a random 4 months long hiatus, shall we?
> 
> Also, I am very happy to announce that I'm organizing Oumota Week 2019 (July 1st-7th)! You can find more about the prompts and rules here: oumota-events.tumblr.com :)

The next few days - or what Momota can only assume were days - go by in a blur. Every morning, without fail, Shirogane would drag him to Ouma’s cell. Once there, he is expected to help the smaller boy drink some water - in a way just as humiliating as before, lips against lips - and then it was time for, as Shirogane put it, some fun. It’s never the same thing, either.

 

He has no idea what is going on with Ouma while he’s not there, whether he ever gets let out of the confinement of the bonds or is allowed to use an actual bathroom. Logically, he knows that Shirogane wants Ouma alive, so anything that would do him permanent harm is not an option, but ever since he got there he’s learned to never underestimate her.  

 

Momota quickly finds out that Shirogane’s imagination seems to have no limits. He can tell that she’s careful not to cause any fatal injuries but even then that was a poor consolation. It takes him some time but he eventually realizes that it’s most likely like that so she can play with them a little longer. She told him that herself, once - eyes swirling with despair and lips stretched in an maniac smile - that she wouldn’t want her toys to break too quickly.

 

Ouma looks a little better than before but Momota suspects that it might be because he simply got used to it at some point. He’s more quiet, his energy subdued, but he continues to bicker and challenge Shirogane as usual and the distraction it offers is too tempting for Momota to try to overthink it. Ouma seems determined to ignore his weak, helpless state and Momota follows his example.

 

Shirogane even let Ouma eat, once, although Momota highly doubts if the meal that he was forced to spoon-feed Ouma with could be counted as food, both its taste and texture reminding him more of mud, grey and sludgy mush. Still, it was better than nothing, even if he could see how Ouma swallowed it with apparent difficulty, the prominent outline of his sharp ribs against the thin skin of his chest made Momota’s stomach churn in uncomfortable worry. His grandma would have had a heart attack if she saw the state the Ultimate Supreme Leader was in, all bones and paper-like skin.  During the long, lonely nights spent back in his old cell on a rotting couch Momota lets his thoughts drift back to his childhood, the comfort of the memories lulling him to sleep when exhaustion finally starts to kick in.

 

Soon the days start to blend in together, each one not that different from the one the day before and the sense of helplessness starts to settle in for good.

 

Momota always wanted to be a hero.

 

To save the poor and lift up the weak. To be the one that others look up to. But it’s hard to play the hero when there’s no one to see it and the only person he can still save has always seen through his hero act.

 

He’s neither arrogant nor naive enough to think that he take on a Remnant of Despair all on his own, he’s learned that the hard way. What’s worse, though, is that he’s slowly starting to realize that he’s not as immune to despair himself as he would prefer to believe that he is. He doesn’t recognize the signs, not at first. Maybe that’s the point. He has a vague memory of Shuichi saying that sometimes it can be a process, something that starts small and innocent until it spreads like an infection.

 

This is how he feels now. Infected by whatever mumbo jumbo Shirogane is under.

 

And he doesn’t like it one bit.

 

*

 

Momota is in his cell when the explosion happens.

 

First, there’s nothing, just the usual silence and stillness of yet another morning spent awaiting Shirogane’s return to take him to Ouma for whatever games she’d prepared for them for today. Then, a deafening, terrifying sound of an explosion pierces through the silence.

 

He jumps to his feet, eyes wide in alarm as he strains his ears, adrenaline pumping through his veins.

 

“What the-?!”

 

Ever since he had been thrown into this cell for the first time, he’s never heard any noise from the outside, cold and solid walls preventing any sounds from reaching his ears. For a sound this loud to carry itself all the way to him, it must have been a big explosion. Big and close.

 

It felt like years until he heard the familiar sound of the key turning and the door opened, revealing Shirogane.

 

Gone is her usual composure, her hair disheveled and eye twitching slightly when she sent him a sharp glare that immediately silenced any questions he might have had.

 

“Get up. We’re going.”

 

Momota scrambled to his feet in a hurry.

 

The walk to Ouma’s cell feels longer than usual but maybe that’s because ever since the explosion Momota’s been on the edge, all of his instincts screaming at him that something is about to happen, something big.

 

Shirogane is clearly annoyed today. Once they reach Ouma’s place she pushes him inside with much more force than necessary and shuts the door behind them with a slam that almost shakes the walls.

 

Through the days that passed since his imprisonment one thing that Momota’s learned is that Ouma is a frighteningly good actor. No matter what Shirogane throws at him, he refuses to give her what she wants, refuses to yield. He’s not immune to pain, obviously, but he does his damn best to keep the pain at bay and not give Shirogane the satisfaction she seeks. It’s a game of cat and mouse that Ouma, despite his obvious disadvantage, does not intend to lose.  

 

“Where is it?” spits Shirogane through gritted teeth instead of a greeting as she marches inside and stands right before Ouma.

 

 _Where is what,_ asks Momota’s brain uselessly. He shifts his position, so he can stand between the two of them, but he’s aware of the fact that if Shirogane decides to make a move it won’t matter in the slightest. It wouldn’t be the first time she shoved him out of her way, he’s learned that the hard way.

 

To Ouma’s credit, he quickly trains his expression into a lazy, faux-innocent smile, his eyelashes fluttering as he looks up at her. He plays dumb, unintentionally voicing Momota’s own confusion.

 

“Where is what?”

 

Shirogane’s fists clench and unclench and it’s probably the first time that Momota’s seen her so evidently pissed, nostrils flaring and eyes wild. She looks like she wants to yell but then seems to think better of it and calms herself a little, although with apparent difficulty.

 

“Fine!” she spat with a huff. “I have other ways to make you talk.”

 

Shirogane snatches something from her bag and then points it at Momota as if she’s wielding a gun, the look on her face an image of cold and barely controlled fury of someone who knows that they have an advantage and fully intends to use it. Momota takes a hesitant step back, eyeing the tool in her hands with distrust. It weirdly resembles a flashlight, although even at the first glance he can say that it’s not that. He has no idea what it’s supposed to mean, what is the importance of this strange item, but as soon as he turns to send Ouma a confused look, it becomes clear that he’s the only one left in the dark. There’s recognition in his expression, some strange combination of anticipation and apprehension, impossible to be mistaken with anything else. Whatever it is - it means trouble.

 

The item itself looks inconspicuous, but then again - so does Shirogane.

 

So did Enoshima...

 

“Your choice,” chirps Shirogane, a predacious smile spreading over her face as she looks Ouma in the eyes, chin held high.

 

Ouma’s lips remain pressed into a thin line, any sign of emotions wiped off his face. For a long, tense moment all eyes are set on him in this small room filled with tense anticipation.

 

It’s Momota who breaks the silence, his eyes shifting to Shirogane and then back to Ouma.

 

“What the hell is going on?” He demands to know, tired of being left in the dark.

 

“What does it look like, Momota-chan?” sing-songs Ouma. “Shirogane-chan here is delusional and thinks I’m gonna do her dirty work for her.”

 

Something passes through Shironage’s face at that, something that implies that she would very much like to argue, but she seems to think better of it.

 

“Looks like Ouma-kun is gonna play stubborn,” shrugs Shirogane finally, a smirk forming on her lips. “That’s fine with me.”

 

Her attention shifts to Momota and he instinctively takes a tentative step back, eyeing the flashlight with distrust. He’s about to open his mouth in protest, but Shirogane’s faster, switching the thing from off to on setting before he could get out a single word.

 

At first he’s simply blinded, just like he would have been if it was any other flashlight. However, as soon as his body starts to tingle, pins and needles spreading across his limbs, he knows that this flashlight is far from normal.

 

A split second before the light swallows him up completely he realizes that he’s seen this thing before, he’s seen it moments before Harukawa turned into something unrecognizable, something wild.

 

He doesn’t have time to feel fear or surprise. He doesn’t have time to feel anything.

 

Everything turns white, the world spiraling and twisting and folding until none of it matters anymore.

 

*

 

Shirogane’s smile is so wide that her face almost splits into two.

 

For now, Momota is still and quiet under her command but the swirls of despair and the red glint in his eyes means that her little device worked exactly as intended. He stares at nothing, unseeing, deaf and blind to everything around him until Shirogane sets a new objective for him.

 

She turns to Ouma, the tone of her voice positively unhinged as she lowers her hand and reaches out to pat Momota’s cheek, her eyes never once leaving Ouma’s face.

 

“Now,” she giggles with barely contained glee, “where were we?”

 

Ouma simply blinks at her which only prompts her to roll her eyes at him. He continues to play dumb. “Shirogane-chan reaaally should be more specific.”

 

Shirogane clicks her tongue.

 

“Not talking, huh? Shame. I remember you being quite talkative, Ouma-kun.” Shirogane kneels next to him, almost shoving her face into his until they are so close that he can feel her breath ghosting over his lips. “Where is it, ah where?”

 

He leans back and makes a face.

 

“Uhhh, Shirogane-chan, haven’t you ever heard of mouthwash?”

 

She ignores him in favor of letting out a dagger out of the pocket of the little bag tied at her waist, its sharp blade shimmering in the dim light of the cell.

 

“Is it here?”

 

Ouma doesn’t let his act fall but he stills when the cold end of the dagger is pressed against the pale skin of his forearm.

 

Shirogane purses her lips at his silence but doesn’t give up, dragging the blade over the skin of his arm until she directs it lower.

 

“Here?” She giggles questioningly, the blade of the dagger poking against Ouma’s calf and dragging it along the length of his leg until it stops just below his knee.

 

Ouma lets out a small hiss when the skin breaks, a trickle of blood dribbling down his leg.

 

“No,” he manages through gritted teeth. His eyes shift to look at her until they drift in Momota’s direction. He gnaws at his lower lip so hard that he draws blood.

 

Shirogane tilts her head to the side, her grin unwavering as she brings the dagger to her lips and licks the blood, her tongue dragging slowly over the smooth and cold surface. Ouma’s cheek twitches in mute disgust.

 

“This is quite a feat that you managed today, Ouma-kun,” she comments almost conversationally. “But I am sure you are aware that I can’t have it happening again.”

 

Ouma pries his eyes away from Momota’s still figure to send her a crooked grin.

 

“Hm, you sure about that, Shirogane-chan? I think someone has to keep you on your toes, nishishi!”

 

Her cheek twitches.

 

“Hm, perhaps you’re right, Ouma-kun… But I think I found what I was looking for.”

 

The tip of the blade in her hand rests against the small bump of skin a few centimeters below his left knee.

 

He doesn’t even have time to blink, Momota’s already at her side, dropping to his knees next to her obediently.

 

She gently, tenderly, positions the dagger in Momota’s hands, wrapping his fingers around it and helping him get a good grip. He’s strangely pliable in her hands and Ouma can’t help but wonder what kind of memory she’s overwritten, how long will it take Momota to transform into a mindless killing machine like he’s seen happen to many others, one or two of his other classmates included.  

 

Shirogane snaps her fingers and Momota dives the dagger right into Ouma’s leg.

 

*

 

It’s nothing like waking up.

 

It feels like he’s emerging from deep waters, everything muted and disorienting to the point of surreal. He’s not sure what happened or even what is going on, his head a confused mess as he tries to urge his senses to work properly.

 

He’s vaguely aware of something warm and sticky covering his hands. He blinks away the blurriness, the whites and blacks and reds swimming before his eyes and then slowly coming into focus.

 

He finds himself face to face with a familiar pair of lilac eyes full of pain and concern and fear, all those emotions warped into one.

 

“...Momota-chan?” Asks the voice.

 

It sounds familiar, both the voice and the words. A name… His name?

 

Something in his chest constricts painfully.

 

“O-Ouma?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are slowly approaching the end of this part of the story! Are you excited? Because I am excited!


End file.
